One-shots
by The-blackfirewolf
Summary: Series of one-shots, mainly character studies and mostly Reid-centric. Second chap: JJ is sent undercover. Third chap: Hotch struggles with failing a teammate. Fourth chap: Reid uses an unusual skill to escape a life or death situation. Seventh chap: de-aged Reid! Send me prompts for this one, guys! *All mistakes are my own*
1. Panic in the Shadows

**A/N: I was re-reading the reviews for Guardian and you people were making me smile and blush which is very nice since at the time I was really stressed out and worried so I decided to give you guys some new material! This chapter, which is called "Panic in the shadows" was written a long time ago. Like, before I started Guardian, which was started over a year ago. This is also basically the first CM story I ever wrote (actually, it's the first fanfiction I ever wrote, amazing isn't it?).**

**Anyways, this will be a series of CM one-shots mostly Reid-centric and will have stories spanning from horror to hurt/comfort to maybe romance? (no slash though). Will post warnings for each chapter. Each chapter will have varying lengths. Hope you enjoy! :)**

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** Summary: He would forever regret not moving a bit faster...**

**Rating: Will leave it at T for now, but may go up to M in later chapters.**

**Warnings: Kinda creepy, but nothing too triggering I think.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own CM in any shape or form.**

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**Panic in the Shadows**

Reid crept down the hallway, flanking his team members. They swept their guns in wide arches around themselves, watching with hawk-like eyes, searching for the first hint of danger. They passed a doorway and, without hesitation, Reid entered it while the rest of his team moved further down the hallway.

It was a small square room, completely bare, with bright fluorescent lights shining down so that not an inch of the room was left in shadow. In fact, the only thing Reid could see was a spider web stretched across the corner of the ceiling, with a black dot in the center that must have been the spider.

_Not much for it to eat here, _thought Reid absent-minded. At the same time he heard a shout of "clear!" Reid holstered his gun and called back a clear to the rest of his team mates. A few seconds later, Morgan appeared in the doorway.

"Was a dead end," he supplied. Reid frowned. Their unsub wasn't here, but they had been so positive that he would be. It just didn't add up.

"Come on, we're going back to the station," said Morgan, dodging backwards from the doorway to allow a frowning Hotch to pass him. Reid nodded and started forwards. On his way out he hesitated, a nagging feeling eating at him, and too lost in his thoughts of confusion to move any quicker.

He would forever regret not moving a bit faster.

With a sudden and startling clang, a metal door slid down, trapping Reid in the room separate of his team. Reid only just managed to leap back before he was crushed by the heavy metal. He could hear a few shocked yells on the other side of the now-blocked doorway.

"Reid, you ok?" yelled Hotch.

"Yeah, I'm ok!" Reid shouted back, a little shaken.

There was a pause, then Morgan asked, "Can you get out Reid?" Reid scanned the room, taking in the emptiness. His eyes landed on the outline of a door he hadn't seen before, painted exactly like the wall, so it blended in.

"There's a door," he called through the metal blocking him from his team. He walked over in a few strides and tried to open the door.

It wouldn't budge; it probably was locked from the outside.

He gave a growl of frustration and stifled the urge to kick the door, knowing that it wouldn't help.

"Locked," Reid said, walking the small distance back to the other side of the room. He now realized that the metal separating them wasn't all that thick, so there was no need to shout.

There was a silence on the other side of the door before a gruff voice Reid recognized as Rossi's said, "I remember seeing a side entrance. I sent SWAT to guard it in case the unsub tried to escape that way. We can get you out that way."

"Just sit tight Reid, you'll be out soon," called Emily's voice.

"Not much else I can do," grumbled Reid quietly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Ok then, we'll be right back," said the calm voice of Hotch.

Instantly Reid was struck with a bout of nervousness, feeling caged and defenceless. He didn't much like the thought of being left here alone with the unsub still on the loose, even if logic was telling him that the unsub wouldn't be able to get to him.

"Guys?" he squeaked, feeling stupid, but not wanting them to go.

Morgan, bless him, must have picked up on Reid's nervousness and said casually, "I'm gonna stay here with Reid. Keep him company." There were sounds of agreement from the rest of the team, then footsteps clomping away. When the sound of their shoes had faded away, Morgan asked softly, "You really ok, kid?"

"Yeah," said Reid, tiredly slumping against the metal door and staring around the blank room. Unknowingly to them both, Morgan chose that moment to also lean back against the metal, so that they unconsciously were standing back to back.

"And Morgan? Thanks."

"No problem, Reid; I got your back."

The two men stood in silence for a bit. Reid breathed calmly in and out, trying to push down his unease of being trapped. In and out, in and out.

_I wonder if this place is air-tight, _thought Reid and instantly all the statistics leapt into his head. All the facts and logic pointed to no, but the thought still made his heart speed up a bit and he went back to counting his breaths.

In and out, in and out.

Suddenly, and without warning, the lights shut off. They didn't flicker or waver, but just flicked off in a small drone of lost power. Reid couldn't help but let out a tiny whimper as the blackness took over, blinding his eyes. It was completely dark, so black Reid couldn't see his hand held up to his face. He pressed closer to the metal, becoming aware that Morgan was trying to talk to him.

"Reid? Reid? You ok?" he was saying.

"Yeah," said Reid quietly, and realizing Morgan probably couldn't hear him, he licked his lips and repeated louder, "Yeah, I'm good. The lights went out."

"Yeah, same over here. Can you see anything?"

"No," said Reid, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.

Silence.

"Don't worry, you'll be out soon. Just hold on, kid," said Morgan, well aware of Reid's fear of the dark, and trying to sound calm and soothing for him. He listened for a few seconds, worried to find he could now hear the faintest sounds of Reid breathing, meaning he was obviously starting to panic.

"Just breathe, Reid, just breathe." Reid heard Morgan and took a deep breath, telling himself to calm down. It was just a little darkness, right? Nothing to be concerned about. He once again started to count his breathing, _in and out_.

"Morgan?" he said softly.

"Yeah?"

"It's really, really dark," and Reid didn't even care that his voice broke, and that he probably sounded childish. Morgan, however, didn't think he sounded foolish. He felt his heart throb hearing the scared note as his friend's voice broke.

"It's ok, Reid," he murmured, half to himself, half to his friend. Once again the silence stretched, neither knowing what to say.

More time passed in darkness, Morgan whispering encouraging things every minute or so to keep Reid calm, and wishing the team would hurry up. Unlike in the room Reid was trapped in, there were dull backup lights along the hallway that provided _just _enough light to let Morgan still see clearly. But the lights were dim, and the dirty old building was starting to make Morgan feel nervous, like it was watching him and disapproved of him being there. As for Reid, he just clenched his eyes closed and concentrated on not panicking from the smothering darkness around him.

A soft rustle made Reid's eyes fly open and he peered desperately into the sinister dark, hoping to be able to see anything. He tried to tell himself it was just his imagination, but another noise had him whimpering in fear.

"Reid?" came Morgan's voice.

Then something very lightly grabbed Reid's arm. He jolted away, slamming heavily into the metal door, letting out a muted cry of shock and fear. And almost as quickly, the feeling of touch was gone, leaving Reid to wonder if it had really happened. But no sooner had that thought crossed his mind when the voice started.

A gentle laugh, like a chuckle, deep and low…

"Heh-heh-heh…" Echoing and vibrating around the entire room. Morgan was forgotten as Reid pushed himself harder against the door, panting in sheer terror as the voice seemed to come from nowhere. Then the laugh slowly died down till all he could hear was his panicked breathing and Morgan yelling something. That sounded muted though, and the silence in the room screamed louder than even the blood rushing through Reid's ears and Morgan's voice calling for him. While cringing back, he strained his ears, searching for any scrap of identifying sound. A sound of whispering and clanging metals seemed to be tickling the edges of his hearing, until he realized it was getting louder gradually.

"He's alwayssss watching…" the voice hissed inhumanly, and something brushed Reid's ankles, causing him to yelp and pull away. The voice laughed as he slowly slid with his back to the door down to the ground, curling into himself and pushing heavily against the door, wanting to melt though it and out of this nightmare.

"It's not real, it's not real…" he whispered desperately to himself.

"Tearsss your bonesss, when you're all alone…"

"It's not real, it's not real…" Reid clenched his eyes shut tight and cowered into his hands, pulling his legs up and rocking back and forth slightly.

"The bloods calling to be tasted…" purred the voice.

_It's not real, it's not real,_ screamed Reid's thoughts, now too terrified to even speak anymore.

"Will it be sweet? I think I'll taste…" Reid could feel the presence in front of him, and he whimpered and slammed hard on the metal, feeling like he was going to pass out in fright. He could smell the foul breath blowing on his face and he recoiled, knowing there was no escape. Then there was a pause and the voice whispered softly, directly into his ear, "Seems to have ran out of time… but I'll be back for you…"

It lapsed into silence, then suddenly something bit down hard on Reid's cheek. He gave a scream and jerked away, feeling blood trickling down his face.

"Heh-heh-heh, tastes so good…" There was a slight rustle and Reid felt the small sob building in his chest burst, and he could no longer breathe.

The side door burst open, allowing light to spill into the confined room. Hotch was leading the way with the rest of the team hot on his heels; even Morgan was there, since he had ran to the team when Reid had stopped responding. They would forever have the memory of their youngest member burned into their memories; the image of him curled on the floor, shaking and sobbing, with blood dripping into haunted eyes. He was rocking back and forth, whimpering like a wounded animal, and he didn't seem to see them. He continued to stare at nothing, still seeing only darkness and the horrors that had disappeared into the gloom.

Locked in his own personal hell.

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**A/N: Since this story was written so long ago, I'll apologize right now if it seems OOC or just overall bad. My writing style has increased greatly over the year but this wasn't really edited from when I first wrote it so yeah... sorry.**

**Ok people, tell me what you think and send me prompts! At the moment I'm working on a huge Spn project so unfortunately my CM creative juices won't flow unless you throw an idea at me. So go ahead and send in some ideas through message or review!**

**Side Note: If there is any Guardian fans out there, I would just like to announce that since basically every review for the last chapter asked for the sequel, it is now happening! I just finished the first chapter but I'm gonna wait a while to post the actual story but still, THE SEQUEL IS A GO PEOPLE! Thanks so much and good-bye for now! :D **


	2. I've Got Your Back

**A/N: This is for a prompt I got from my IRL friend,_ TheChiaroscuro_, who said, "The BAU are after an Un-sub who's been targeting blondes, and as bait J.J. goes out to lure in the killer with Emily and Reid as her back-up." This came out much longer than I expected, and she really enjoyed it, so I'm publishing it! Enjoy!**

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**Summary: JJ is sent undercover to a bar, with Reid and Emily as backup. Of course, nothing is going to happen, is it? Right, this is the BAU team we're talking about, people.**

**Warnings: Brief violence, implied rape and torture, very very small mention of drug use. Honestly, I don't know why I'm putting these warnings down, everything in this chapter is really mild, really.**

**Disclaimer: As always, I don't own Criminal Minds, which disappoints me. Although is I DID own the show, that means I'd have to write up plot-lines and such, which I would suck at. On the up side, I could meet the actors!**

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**I've Got You're Back**

"How did I get stuck doing this?" complained JJ, tugging at the rim of her sparkling red cocktail dress. "Why can't Reid do it?"

"Reid isn't blond enough," Emily soothed her friend patiently for the hundredth time, brushing a bit of eye-shadow over JJ's face with precise ease.

"Plus I'm not a female," piped up Reid, leaning on the wall across from them where he had been for a while, watching the conversation with interest.

"You sure about that, Pretty Boy?" Morgan joked, just walking into the room and catching the tail-end of their conversation. "You look pretty feminine to me; _est tu gay?"_

Emily and JJ both burst into noisy giggles. Reid, not missing a beat, fired back at his friend, "Says the man who calls me 'Pretty Boy.'" A dumbfounded expression took over Morgan's features and Emily and JJ howled even harder with laughter. "And it's _êtes-vous gay_."

"Touché, kid; touché," Morgan conceded in defeat, lifting his hands in surrender. Reid felt a small smile of victory tug at his lips and Emily gave him a secret thumbs-up Morgan thankfully didn't catch.

Hotch entered the room then, frowning slightly at the ruckus he found. Deciding he didn't want to know, he asked, "Are we ready to go?"

"Yep," Emily answered, carefully adjusting the last part of JJ's outfit. JJ gave a small gulp and tugged nervously at the hem of her dress, her fingers flitting over the silky fabric.

None of the profilers in the room missed this and Morgan asked somewhat cautiously, "JJ, you OK?"

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," added Hotch gently, his face blank but his eyes betraying his concern for his young agent.

JJ let out a loud exhale through her mouth. "I'm good; let's do this."

Emily smiled lightly then said seriously, "Me and Reid will be there the entire time, OK? So don't worry, you'll be perfectly safe." The raven-haired woman gave her blond friend a quick hug, smiling again.

"Thanks," said JJ, somewhat gratefully. "And I trust you guys completely."

And that's how JJ found herself standing in the middle of a darkened club, the floor vibrating from the thumping music and the lights wildly spinning across the walls in diamond-shaped patterns. JJ jumped slightly when a voice came through her ear, breaking her out of her trance.

"JJ?" Morgan's voice called through her earpiece.

Cupping her hand casually over her ear, JJ said back, "I hear you."

Sounding satisfied, Morgan continued. "OK, we're looking for a vibrant, flirty man in his early thirties. He'll be drawing attention to himself, and is most likely attractive and charming. Do you see anyone like that?"

JJ scanned the group, glancing over all the idiot drunks spilling their drinks over their friends, sweaty people dancing on the main floor (some of them looked like they were having seizures, the dancing was _that _bad), a group of scantily dressed women giggling in one of the booths, until finally her eyes landed on a man sitting on a bar stool.

He was dressed casually but brightly, with blue jeans and a purple button-down shirt. His hair was sleek and tipped with baby-blue highlights, bringing out the colour in his eyes, and JJ could swear he was wearing some eye-liner, although it was impossible to tell from this distance. He was very attractive and was chatting up a pretty young girl that seemed enthralled with every word he said to her.

"Over by the bar," JJ told Morgan, "He could be our guy."

There was a moments silence from Morgan before he made a sound of agreement. "Yeah, he looks like the unsub. Act natural, and go up and talk to him."

"He's talking to another girl," JJ said, taking a deep breath.

"So, use your feminine charms to get his attention away from her and onto you. That's no too hard, is it?"

Rolling her eyes but not responding to Morgan, JJ made her way over to the bar, remembering when she was half-way there to sway her hips like Emily had told her to. She felt ridiculous doing it, but at least three men did a double-take as she passed them, so she figured her "feminine charms" were working.

She slid in between the girl and their possible unsub, cutting off what the girl was currently saying with a loud proclamation of, "What's a girl got to do to get a drink around here?"

Something lit up in the man's eyes as JJ pretended to ignore him, also ignoring the dirty looks she was receiving from the young girl. Technically, thought JJ, it was this girl's lucky day; if this man _was_ their unsub, they had just saved her from being his next victim.

"Let me get that," the man said when the bartender slid a drink over to JJ.

JJ batted her eyelashes at him and purred as convincingly as possible, "Why, thank you very much."

The younger girl tried to get the man's attention back on her, but his eyes were now firmly fixed on JJ. Looking deflated, she stalked off, sending a vicious glare JJ's way. The blond agent almost flinched at that; she hated acting so rude, even if it _was_ to catch a killer.

"Good, keep that up," Morgan couched through her ear. "Now that you've got your drink, take a few sips then excuse yourself to the bathroom; Reid and Prentiss will be watching to see if he puts anything in your drink."

JJ bit her lip to refrain herself from snapping at Morgan, telling him that she_ knew_ the plan and _could_ take care of herself and would he _stop_ treating her like a newbie agent. Instead, she ignored him and smiled at the man, stirring her drink slowly and not breaking contact with the man's fiery, greedy eyes.

"So, I haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm just visiting, looking for a good time," flirted JJ, taking a sip from her glass. Urgh, some sort of fruit mix; not her favourite alcoholic drink to have.

The man flashed a smile at her, his eyes watching her every move and subtly admiring the curves of her body. "Hmmm… I can give you that…" He leaned forward slightly and a cold chill raced through JJ, twisting her gut into a sick knot.

She quickly gave a sip of her drink, blocking the man from moving any closer to her, before she set her glass down and stood up. "Just let me run to the bathroom real quick, 'K?"

The man leaned back again, a predatory smirk taking over his features as he gave a nod. Suddenly, under the shadows of flickering lights, he didn't look very attractive.

Not even bothering to look behind herself, JJ walked as fast as she could to the bathroom without actually running. Bursting through the door, she was relieved to find it empty, except for a girl passed out in one of the back corners. JJ made a note to herself to make sure someone came in and got her; she didn't want the poor drunk girl to be taken advantage of just because she had had a little too much to drink.

Leaning against one of the sinks, JJ drew in a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair and trying to quell the queasy feelings coiling in her stomach. Her head jerked up when the door opened again, but she relaxed when she realized it was just Emily.

"You OK?" the black-haired woman asked, alarmed.

JJ waved a hand casually, straightening back up. "Yeah, I'm fine. Reid's watching him?"

"Like a hawk," clarified Emily, looking a tad more relaxed, and JJ gave her a tight-lipped smile.

"Good; guess I should go back in there, hah?" said JJ, feigning another unconcerned smile. In truth, the thought of seeing the man again made her heart jump and her stomach lurch uncomfortably.

"Yeah," Emily nodded. JJ moved to leave, but Emily grabbed her arm at the last moment. "Don't worry, OK, JJ?"

JJ lightly ripped her arm from her grip, brushing off the other agent's worried eyes with an unconvincing smile. "I'm _fine_, Emily."

Venturing back out into the bar, JJ swallowed nervously, her eyes locking on the man patiently waiting for her.

"He hasn't put anything in the drink."

JJ nodded slightly at the sound of Reid's voice coming through her earpiece. She scanned the crowds quickly and was able to pick out his lanky, awkward form farther back in a booth, casually watching the bar where the man sat.

"I don't think it's him," Morgan chimed in. "I think we have the wrong bar, guys."

"Are you sure?" questioned Reid, "I was almost positive he would turn up here…" The genius lapsed into silence, and Morgan gave a small sigh.

"Reid, relax. So you got one thing wrong for once, no big deal." Then addressing everyone else, Morgan said, "OK everyone, lets pack it up."

JJ could briefly hear Reid mumbling under his breath of how, "He was never wrong," when she noticed the man was approaching her again.

Morgan must have noticed as well because he said, "JJ, get rid of him, we're going."

JJ rolled her eyes to herself. "Yes, mom," she mocked. She heard the soft chuckle of Morgan in her ear before the man from the bar was suddenly in front of her. Still smiling from her team's antics, she directed it at the man, hoping it looked more sincere than she felt.

"You took a while," he pointed out, although he didn't look too offended; in fact, he smiled charmingly at her like she was a troublesome toddler.

"Yeah, sorry, someone just phoned me. I gotta go," she said, quickly coming up with an excuse. She was surprised when he just grinned again.

"OK, it was nice meeting you. Have a nice night." Then he turned and started back to the bar, not sparing her a second glance.

JJ shook her head for a moment, trying to drive out the foggy thoughts that invaded her mind. _Definitely _not _our guy, _she thought, wandering towards the back door the team had agreed they'd use to exit. However, as soon as she had exited into the alleyway, she knew she had made a mistake.

Every one of her senses lit up in flames that had developed over the years she had worked with the FBI, and she took an instant step back, bumping back into the door she had just come out of.

"JJ?" came Morgan's voice, before something was smashed violently into her temple. With a gasp, she slumped down onto her knees, her hands scrapping against the rough pavement as they came down to break her fall.

_Wrong back door then._

Blinking blood out of her eyes and trying to stop the whirling in her head, she dizzily forced herself to her feet, staggering back a little from the effort it took. Her mind was still moving too slowly for her to really understand what was happening, but when she saw the baseball bat swinging towards her, she acted.

Using all the self-defense classes Morgan had taught her, along with her martial arts she had begun to learn with Emily, she ducked. She heard her attacker give off a surprised noise, probably not expecting his victim to be so fast, especially after bashing them in the forehead with a baseball bat.

Not giving the man time to recover, JJ launched herself blindly at the man that had attacked her. He gave a loud grunt as she slammed into him, and both of them tumbled to the ground. JJ heard the dull clunk of wood as the baseball bat fell away out of the man's grip.

Together, the two of them wrestled on the ground, JJ managing to pin and punch the man nearly three times full in the face before he got his wits back and slammed his fist into her stomach. Drawing back with a gasp, he pushed her off of him before lunging to where the baseball bat was.

JJ recovered herself enough to leap back onto the man, both of them scrabbling for the weapon that could mean the difference between living and dying for the FBI agent.

It was at this point that JJ realized that her earpiece had fallen out, since she couldn't hear anything her team was undoubtedly saying. She also realized that the fogginess in her mind couldn't have possibly just been from the blow to her head; no, somehow the unsub had managed to drug her, even with Reid and Prentiss's careful watching.

Blinking with this new awareness, she focused her eyes on her struggling attacker, fighting against the heaviness that was taking over her limbs. She recognized the man beneath her, and the pieces clicked together.

Their unsub was the bartender; with a flashy, handsome partner, they could distract a woman so he could slip something in her drink. And then when the woman had passed out, the bartender could easily remove her from his bar without suspicion; then later, he and his partner would go get her from where she had been stashed, so they could fulfill whatever sick fantasies plagued their minds.

Panic took over JJ as her arms suddenly went limp, and the man was able to flip her over, pinning her smaller form beneath his bulk. Less than a minute had passed since the fight had begun, but to JJ it felt like hours. Panting like an animal, the man grinned at her, the darkness and blood and wildness in his eyes making it look twisted and deranged.

"Got ya now, Sweetheart," he snarled, licking the blood from his lips. Everything was paralyzed in JJ, whether from the drugs or her own fear, she wasn't sure. All she could think of was her son waiting for his mommy back home, and Will, always so worried for her although he hid it as best as he could. She would never see them again, and if nothing else, _that_ is what terrified her; she had worked at this job for too long to fear her own death. But her family, her team…

"Hey!" someone barked, and relief instantly washed through the blond woman. Morgan. Her team. They would never abandon her, they would always save each other.

"You have two seconds to get off of her, or I will shoot your ass!"

The unsub gave a bark of laughter, his eyes rolling madly down to meet JJ's. They looked almost completely black in the night, glinting sadistically down at his captive.

"Get off of her."

The quiet voice of Reid, boiling with concealed rage beneath the surface froze JJ's blood. Anyone that knew her friend would know he was meek, awkward around others, sometimes painfully shy and self-conscious. But if you broke past enough of his barriers and stung something at the center of him, he would release a cold and calculating fury, that quite frankly, scared her out of her mind. She had only seen him act like this a few other times in her life, and each time it had chilled her to the bone.

Something in Reid's voice froze the unsub as well, but when he turned and looked behind himself, he just coughed out another maniacal laugh. JJ could imagine what he saw; the skinny and laughably young Dr. Reid, pointing a gun at him with a shaky hand. Not exactly a very threatening image, compared to the pissed-off bulk that was Morgan, undoubtedly standing next to him.

"What, are you serious?" the unsub sneered, his eyes turning back down to JJ. The woman's eyes got wide when she saw a shadow suddenly loom over them, and the man followed her gaze above and behind him, his eyes also bugging out. Then he was tackled off of her.

JJ blinked tiredly up into the now empty space above her; the night sky was pretty, cloudy, so no stars, but still nice. Then Morgan's concerned face was hovering over her, and she smiled.

"Hey," she rasped out, and he gave her a strained smile in return.

Then she proceeded to pass out, not catching Morgan's reply and ignoring the sounds of blows being exchanged and the screaming of sirens around her.

XXXXX

JJ woke up to a sharp, sterile smell that she could taste on her tongue and which she instantly recognized. Many times, whether for herself or her team or even a survivor of one of their unsubs, she had visited a hospital, and she found that each one smelled the same. Cracking open her eyes, she observed, that like almost _every_ other hospital, the room was also a blank, colourless white. This room she was in was darkened though, probably to let her sleep peacefully.

"JJ?" said a low voice, and JJ was startled to see someone was sitting in a chair by her bed. Emily, looking at her with concern and a fair amount of relief etched over her face.

"Hey," she said back softly, her voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard. Emily reached over and gave her a cup of water which she gratefully swallowed down in one gulp, soothing her burning throat.

"What happened?" she asked, giving the empty cup back to her friend.

"The bartender was the unsub," said Emily, and JJ nodded.

"Yeah, I figured that out when he bashed me over the head," replied JJ, memories trickling back to her. With her words, she realized she didn't have a pounding headache, odd after being hit with a baseball bat. "Did they give me something for my head?"

Emily nodded. "You had a very minor concussion, so they thought it would be safe to give you a bit of pain medication. Although I don't think Reid was too pleased. You know how he is whenever drugs are mentioned."

JJ gave a slow bob of the head, before another question sprung into her mind. "Reid, is he OK?"

Emily suddenly beamed brightly. "As Morgan tells it, when the guy pinning you refused to back down, Reid 'sprung like a freaking cat or something and tackled the guy to the ground before beating the everlasting shit out of him.'"

JJ blinked. "_Reid_?"

Emily nodded. "Reid."

"Hah," said JJ, thoroughly shocked.

"Hey, are you OK?" asked Emily suddenly.

"I'm fine, Em, why?" JJ said, slightly exasperated.

"When we were in the bar," JJ flinched, and Emily continued, "You seemed… uncomfortable." Leaving her words hanging there, Emily leaned back in her chair, letting her friend think over her words.

Finally, JJ said softly, "I know what I was doing, going undercover like that, was to catch a killer but… the entire time it felt like I was cheating on Will. Like I was betraying my son and husband, just for doing my job." JJ's blue eyes slid down in shame. "And I know it's not true, but I couldn't help feeling that."

Emily reached forward and wrapped her friend in a small half-hug. "I'm so sorry, JJ. You don't ever have to go undercover again. And don't feel ashamed, there is nothing wrong with being faithful to the ones you love."

JJ smiled thankfully. "Thanks, Em."

"Knock, knock," called a soft voice, and JJ looked up with a grin to where Reid was now standing in the doorway, a sheepish expression on his face. A white bandage was wrapped around his forehead and he was sporting a black eye, but otherwise he seemed fine.

"I'm gonna go get some coffee," Emily declared, standing up. As she passed Reid, she patted his arm. "And I'll get some for you too, genius."

He flashed a quick, relieved smile at her then carefully settled himself next to JJ. "You OK?"

"I'm fine, Spence, are you?"

Reid gingerly touched his head and winced. "I've been better, but I'll be fine."

"Thanks, by the way. Emily told me that you jumped the guy."

Reid blushed. "I didn't want to shoot him, but he wasn't backing down so I decided to surprise him. Nobody ever expects me to fight."

"That's 'cause it's not in you, Spence," she teased lightly. "Violence just doesn't flow through your veins."

Reid nodded thoughtfully. Then his face fell a little. "I'm sorry, Emily said we would watch your back, but we-"

"Spence, thanks," JJ said sincerely, cutting him off, and he ducked his head, rubbing his neck. He knew from her firm tone that she didn't blame him or anyone else on their team, and if she was willing to forgive him, he would drop the matter.

"No problem."

"And for the record," said JJ, forcing Reid to meet her eyes, "I know you guys will _always_ have my back." Reid gave her a hesitant smile which she returned, patting his arm comfortingly like Emily had done.

Hotch suddenly gave a sharp rap at the door, interrupting the moment, and both of his agents looked up. "Prentiss said you were awake. Will and Henry are here to see you, JJ; do you want me to send them in?"

JJ sat up, wincing as the bruises all over her body ached. "Yeah, I'm good; send them in, please."

Hotch nodded but instead of instantly leaving, he said, "Nice to see you awake, JJ." Only then did he turn and leave.

"Well, I'll be going," said Reid, getting up slowly and stretching. JJ waved to him, muttering a good-bye absent-mindedly, already having caught sight of Will and her son coming into her room.

"Hey, honey," she cooed to her son, when Will lifted him up to sit by his injured parent. "How are you doing?"

Henry started babbling happily, eager to tell his mommy about his friends and school-work and anything else on his young mind, as Will grinned down at his wife, leaning forward and lightly pressing a kiss to her lips.

"You OK, JJ?" he murmured.

JJ smiled and relaxed against the back of her hospital bed, and for the first time since this case began, responded with absolute certainty.

"Yeah, I'm OK."

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**A/N: Well, there we go people! Please give me feedback, and be sure to send in prompts or ideas. Thanks to all of you, especially for the long reviews I got for the last chapter. You guys rock! :)**

***In other news, I FINALLY got my writing blog up and running. This will feature all my ideas for future stories, updates on on-going stories and my progresses, drabbles, ect. More of that sort of thing. If you like my work, or just want to bug me to write more or send me prompts, check it out! Link is on my profile. Till next time, friends! :D**


	3. Different Heartbeats

**A/N: Hi everyone, sorry for a long time between updates. This is a request I got a while back from my IRL friend, _TheChiaroscuro._ Her prompt was, "While on a case Morgan is shot and in critical condition with the team not knowing if he'll hold on. Then he dies, dun dun dunnnnnn!" And anyways, my mind kinda went off script from that and I don't really like how I ended it, but whatever, read on!**

**Also, I don't usually write out of the perspective of Reid. The last one,_ I've got your Back_, had me like, really, really nervous, 'cause I wasn't sure I was very good writing in JJ's perspective. Apparently though, I did fairly well, so thanks guys!**

**Also huge thanks to _Annber03_, who always leaves a long review for me. You rock, man!**

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**Summary: While on a case, Morgan is shot and put in critical condition. The team doesn't know if he's going to make it, and Hotch struggles with the guilt of failing a team member.**

**Warning: Mentions of blood, general sad themes, implied character death.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds, as usual.**

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**Different Heartbeats**

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The sound was familiar in the sterile air. He had heard it many times – too many times – pulsing in the darkness. The heart monitor, hooked to his family, his friends, signaling the closeness, the seriousness, of a situation. The hovering of death, held at bay from nothing more than modern medicine and care. He always wondered if one day it wouldn't be enough.

The first memory that jumped to mind was Emily's "death." The way Garcia had wailed, and Reid, with reddened eyes, had tried to rush from the room, only to latch onto JJ and cling there like it was the only thing preventing him from breaking apart. The way JJ's eyes had shone with guilt the team, in their grief, had not noticed.

That memory was fresh in his head, but if he let his mind drift, memories of everyone else came into his head.

Reid, poor hopelessly young Reid, had been in a hospital bed too many times to count, always slightly more broken than when he went in. But it never seemed to defeat him; amazingly, he always got back up again.

And oh, he remembered after Garcia had been shot, how wrathful he had felt, knowing the gentlest, most sensitive part of their team had been so cruelly betrayed and injured. He was so grateful when she had not lost her trust and love for the world around her. That she continued to see the good in people, instead of the endless bad that consumed him.

He could see JJ with bandages wrapped around her head, and tired, sad eyes cast downwards. He could see Rossi's pain after each case, and he cursed his friend, who after all this time, still refused to open up to the team. He bore it all in silence. And at the very back of all those horrible memories was Morgan, after the Foyet case, where he'd very nearly been killed. It had always seemed sort of ironic that the only reason he was still alive was because he hadn't been awake. But Hotch remembered the anger, the pain, as the medic had pulled the glass shards out of Morgan's arm.

Morgan's rage had always clashed with Hotch's coolness, his straight-forward thinking. Morgan was rash, he told himself, but that really wasn't it. It was because Morgan cared.

Not that Hotch didn't care; no, he cared a lot about his family, and the victims they saved every day. But he wasn't the one to yell his frustrations. He was the one to hold it all in and keep calm to stop himself from being torn apart, like paper in a child's grasp.

The case had been like that. One with Morgan banging his hands on tables and growling out the profile, frustrated with their lack of intel and progress, and Hotch, gritting his teeth and trying to be the stoic leader he was. When they had finally had a break in the case, both of them had got that glint in their eyes.

The instant Hotch opened the door, he knew he was done for. Even with his gun held up, ready to fire in a millisecond, it wouldn't be enough.

The shot of the unsub's gun was surprising quiet.

A lot happened in that time. Kind of a "life flashing before your eyes" thing. He saw his brother, Haley, his team. All the people that had made his life worthwhile, smiling in his head. Mostly though, he thought of Jack.

What would happen to him now, he wondered? But really, he didn't need to wonder; he knew his team would take care of his son for him, even if they had to fight every court on this earth. He speculated then, on who would take him in and rise him.

Garcia was the first option that sprung to mind. She adored Jack, and would spoil him rotten. And she was the only one on the team that didn't really travel. With the rest of the team's help, she could do it. It could work, he supposed.

JJ would take him in too. Jack and Henry got along amazingly, and Hotch had no doubts that they'd grow up like brothers, even before his death. And Will was a good father; kind, gentle, protective, combined with JJ's hidden strength. For a second, he could imagine them four as a family. A _real _family. Not the two lonely pieces that was just him and Jack.

Hotch wasn't sure, but when he was knocked down, he guessed he was dead. A fatal shot, maybe? Is that why he felt no pain, and everything was so clear?

It took him almost a full minute to realize he was far from dead; in fact, he seemed in perfect health. It took him another minute to realize that the hole gaping in Morgan's chest, leaking precious blood onto the dusty floorboards, was from his teammate taking the bullet for him.

Things slowed, and all he could hear was the choking, rattling gasps as his teammate, _his friend_, died beside him. It didn't matter that the unsub was no longer there, probably escaping at that moment. All Hotch could do was unwind his tie – a silky black with blue diamonds that Jack had got him for Father's day – and press it to Morgan's wound, pushing harder and harder to desperately try and stop the relentless flow. The blood made the fabric glisten like liquid rubies in the dim half-light.

It was when the blood had soaked all the way through to Hotch's hands, and his fingertips were pressed to the flayed skin beneath, that he thought suddenly, _wait, the team wouldn't need to adopt Jack; Jess would just take care of him_.

Odd how the brain worked when under stress.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The damnable beeping was somehow so much louder than the gunshot had been. Hotch would never say it, but he could always hear it. The sounds of it woke him up in the night, in a cool sweat that ran in rivers down his face and back. Whenever he met someone, he imagined how their heart would sound, struggling to keep itself going. Would it sound slow, melodic, and calm? Or would it beat fast, out of pace – confused, yet somehow knowing the dire circumstances of living? Holding onto the edge of life?

_"Hotch, we're not sure if he's… if he's gonna make it."_

It was just like after Emily's fake death, only this time, Garcia's wails weren't muffled by Morgan's strong embrace. Instead she sat silently, eyes red and swollen, clutching Emily's cold hands. Both of their faces was so pale, like stone marble. And he never would have guessed that it would be Reid that would be snarling and smashing his hands against the walls. Hotch was just as amazed that JJ didn't try to stop him, not once, just flinching and letting a tear fall with every punch her dear friend threw to the unflinching wall.

It turned out Rossi was the one that interfered when it became clear that Reid wasn't going to stop, even though he had broken three fingers in his unexpected rage.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

They all had their places on the team. Hotch was the leader, the guide. Reid was the brain, but also the craved innocence they all needed. Garcia was, undoubtedly, the heart and joy of the team. JJ was the mother and caregiver, guardian angel silently protecting, with Emily as their strength and willpower. Rossi, wise in his years, and with one ear always open to listen and subtly point out the overlooked details. But where did Morgan fit in, with his rage and kindness and sly moves?

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_"What do you think?"_

That's what he was. He was their humility. Whenever the team forgot, whenever they retreated too much from what was in front of them, he was the one to bring them back with his rants and screaming. He reminded them that they had to _feel_. No matter how much it hurt.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

He had always wondered who would be the first to succumb to his failure of a leadership. He had always wondered who would be the first to pay for his inability to properly protect the ones he loved.

_Beep, beep, beep..._

Now that he was here, in this moment, he found he didn't feel _anything_.

_Beepbeepbeep…_

The sound of the heart monitor failing was quite possibly the quietest, harshest, most mind-numbing sound he had ever heard. It almost made him wish to hear that painful_ beeping _again, anything besides that awful droning.

_BLEEEEEEP…._

It seemed funny, that at the moment they needed Morgan the most, he wasn't available.

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**A/N: Side note I forgot to put up last chapter: I always see CM fanfics written where the characters are pretty condensed. Like… stereotypical. Reid's always weak and weepy, Morgan punches through walls, Hotch doesn't have any emotions, ect, ect. Even I fall into that way of writing and it's annoying because I know the characters are so much deeper than that. However, (at least for me) writing seven characters all at once as deep and more meaningful than their "roles" is challenging and just plain old exhausting. Basically what I'm trying to say is that I'm attempting to break the stereotypes without going OOC (which also happens a lot in this fandom) but it's hard, and takes me longer to write. Worth it though! (With that in mind, let's just say I'm eternally ashamed of how OOC and how just generally _bad _Guardian &amp; Assailant are)**

**Hotch is kinda a complicated character for me too. I think he's not as emotionless as he lets on, but I didn't want to seem OOC in this, so please tell me what you think! I want to do better at writing all these characters! (plus this is my first death fic, so how'd I do?)**

**Lastly, send me prompts for more one-shots, people! If you do there is a 99.9% chance I'll write it; it'll probably just take me half a year to finish it, lol. Till next time, guys! Please review!**

**EDIT 16/09/14: Changed the ending, since I hated it, and fixed up/added some things. **


	4. The Sound of Knives

**A/N: Hey guys, HAPPY HALLOWEEN. WHOOOO FAVOURITE HOLIDAY! So in honour of that, I wrote a super scary story for you guys! Just in time for Halloween! Also, an anon wanted more badass!Reid, specifically where he has a "super awesome/useful skill," and I combined that with another suggestion from my IRL friend _TheChiaroscuro _to make... this. So here ya go! (P.S. I love badass Reid too! People should write more fics for it!)**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially _Annber03_! You're the best!**

**On a side note, I'm really REALLY proud of this one, especially how I ended it. So without farther ado, READ ON! LET'S GET SPOOPY!**

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**Summary: Reid faces down an unsub in a dark, abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. He has to use an unusual skill of his to survive the night, and the house (bad summary, sorry).**

**Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence, creepiness.**

**Disclaimer: As you all probably know, I DON'T own Criminal Minds. Sigh...**

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**The Sound of Knives**

Reid's heart pounded in his chest. An icy grip held him down and blocked his throat, consuming him with dread. It wasn't unusual for him to feel fear on raids – in fact, he always did; for himself, his team, and any others around. But this raid was different and this time the terror wasn't a faint murmur washed away by adrenaline. It was loud, and insistent, and impossible to think through.

And his team wasn't here.

Reid cursed himself for that. It had been simple enough – get in, take down the unsub, save a life, go home and put your feet up until the next psycho sent you scrambling. But what he and Morgan hadn't counted on was the unsub slitting their victim's throat without even bothering to negotiate and turning tail and fleeing the scene.

"Backups on the way! Hold on!" Morgan had shouted, holding his hands over the girl's throat as she gurgled and stared up at him with panicked, terrified eyes. Her pale skin looked like marble, the red blood like over-ripened cherries leaking their juices. The back door of the shack fluttered and slammed on itself from where the unsub had just passed by – as it swung open with the wind, the scent of pines and mint and barley rolled in.

"You go after him, I got her!" Morgan said, and Reid hadn't hesitated to listen to him. Morgan knew what he was doing. He knew they had precious time remaining before the unsub disappeared into the woodwork again, and this was their only chance to catch him.

The sound of his awkward running and the swaying of the flashlight on his gun had made Reid feel sick, as if the smell of blood and mint wasn't enough. He wasn't sure where the mint smell was coming from, but as he reached the end of the tree-line, he plunged into a field of what he assumed was barley, or more likely, wheat. It was too dark to be positive, and he didn't have time to stop and study what was around him.

He followed the inhuman wheezing of the unsub ahead of him, running blindly through the wheat that was taller than he was. He felt a prickle under his skin, reminded of the Hankel case and the similar feeling running through _that_ field had brought to his chest. As if to reinforce his point, the wheat trembled and glazed his skin, the sharp leaves slicing clean scratches into his bare arms and hands.

Then there, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of an abandoned wheat field, was a three-story mansion. The tiles were hanging off the roof like ruffled scales on a dragon and the belly of it squatted on the burnt ground like it was trying to hide. The windows were all smashed out, gaping with splintered glass shards of teeth, and the door hung sideways and was smeared in scarlet spray-paint – graffiti done by a couple of teenagers, no doubt.

The shadow of the unsub dashed up onto its porch – Reid could hear the protesting wood squeal beneath his weight – and he squeezed past the crooked door and inside.

Reid followed.

It was pitch black. The wind moaned through the broken windows, like it was causing the house pain. Dust and mold greeted Reid's nose and he fought not to gag, stumbling over creaky floorboards that betrayed every move he took.

The unsub didn't make any noise.

He had to be in the house though. There was no second exit. Just this long, never-ending hallway Reid crept down, empty rooms blossoming on either side, but void of all life or doors leading outside or to new rooms. Crooked stairs broke off and led up into more darkness to his left, but Reid didn't bother to go that way – part way up he could see the remains of the top part of the stairs burnt or rotted away, leaving only the barest skeleton of the structure standing. The unsub, or anyone, wouldn't be able to go up there without falling through and causing a racket.

The last room opened up suddenly, like it had swallowed Reid into it. It was a kitchen, or what had used to be one. Pipes stuck out of a sink at odd angles, a great clawed table laid on one side, and a stool with two spindly legs leaned against the water-stained walls, once dyed a salmon-pink that now looked like vomit. A long square counter wrapped around one side of the room, the table in its center, with a backdoor next to lopsided cabinets and the sink, boarded over in plywood and spiky nails. An enormous bay window showed the briefest glimpse of an orange moon before the clouds moved and coated everything in darkness again. The curtains stirred restlessly, and motioned for Reid to go back.

Reid moved cautiously around the table, his hip brushing the counter made of granite and sending a chill down his legs. He couldn't see the unsub, but he could feel him breathing and watching him. He was here.

The flashlight on his gun flickered, once, twice. Then it went out. Panicked, Reid slapped it with the butt of his left hand. It lit up again, flooding the space in front of him with light and revealing the unsub smiling across from him, five feet away and holding a bloodstained machete that had already claimed at least one life.

Then the flashlight died again.

Reid's gun clattering noisily on the floor was shocking after the muffled quality the house held. He expected nothing except the blade burying itself in his windpipe, the taste of rusty blood on his tongue. So he did the only thing that came to mind and dropped to the floor like a stone, curling one hand around his throat protectively and the other flailing for his fallen gun. It was his only hope; he couldn't possibly fight the unsub hand-to-hand and win.

He heard the blade whistle in the air above him and as his eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, he saw the shape of the unsub falter in the knowledge his prey had just dropped out of sight.

There was no gun. His hand clenched on the searing hot skin of the unsub's leg, flushed with sweat and slicked with blood. Reid pushed himself up a little and barreled himself into them desperately as the blade shrieked again and descended, carving a gash into his shoulder-blade but missing his head as the unsub fell. Reid scrambled back, struggling to his feet as the unsub snarled like a dog and dug the tip of the machete into the floorboards, using it to help himself up. Reid dodged behind the table and bashed his hip on the other side of the counter, frozen as he watched the unsub rise and stalk towards him. His hands burned from where his gun had been, and in the dim light of the window he caught the glint of it on the floor – _behind_ the unsub.

Tears from too much dust and panic and horror dripped from Reid's eyes, and his hands slid along the back of the cool countertop, trying to gain control and stop his heart before the unsub tore it out of him. His hand met something smooth and wooden, with metal limbs sticking out of it.

The unsub's eyes were black, his weapon silver, his pants spraying the air with white fog and saliva. The mad screeching that came howling out of his throat turned Reid's blood to ice, but it didn't stop his hand from pulling a knife from the cutlery-block and throwing it with deadly accuracy into the unsub's heart.

The unsub didn't stop making his merciless screaming, but he did stop moving towards Reid. His hand dropped, but still held the machete tightly, until even in the dark Reid could see the white ghosts of his knuckles. The eyes, no colour to them in the night's blanket, glimmered with insanity but also a knowing. Then he smiled once, baring yellowed fangs of teeth, before coughing up a river of blood and toppling backwards to the floor. He was dead before he hit the ground, although his yowls continued to bounce and echo along the house and inside Reid's skull.

For a long time, Reid just stood there, half hunched over the counter and one hand glued to the cold surface, the other still poised in the air from where it had released the knife. He was shaking, he realized, probably from shock, or relief, or left-over fright. Maybe all three of them.

The wind flared and the house laughed at him, and Reid knew he couldn't stay here. He leapt like a startled deer over the dead unsub, dead eyes still smiling and blood pooling around him, and snatched his gun up, holstering it away safely. Then he paused, and stared sightlessly at the unsub. He could swear, just for a moment, that his grin seemed wider than before, and his eyes more alive. Like the house itself was bringing the corpse back to life.

The team found Reid later outside the house sitting on the wooden steps of the porch, shivering all over from cold and shock. Next to him laid the unsub's dead body, his face beaming at the clouded sky and one arm flung out, like he was inviting them all into the house where he'd met his doom. The knife in his chest was twisted and drowning in slippery blood, and was the same blood that covered Reid.

"Reid, you ok?" Morgan asked, guilt flooding him for sending the younger agent after the dangerous unsub, rather than going himself.

Reid looked up slowly and asked softly, "The girl?"

"Medics arrived just in time. She should make it."

Reid nodded. "Good."

Morgan grabbed his arm and helped the genius to his feet, letting him go only when he was positive he would continue standing. JJ latched onto her friend and gave him a huge hug, which Reid returned. Emily and Morgan exchanged relieved glances, and the raven-haired woman went back through the field so she could direct the local police to where they were.

"What happened? Why are you covered in blood? Oh god, are you-"

"I'm fine, JJ, really," Reid assured her. "It's n-not my blood."

Hotch and Rossi were examining the corpse with blank expressions, taking in the knife blade, the small pool of blood, and streaks of black-copper gore that led from inside the house and across the porch. They looked at the blood covering Reid, too much blood for just being next to the unsub when he'd stabbed him. So much blood that it could only mean that lanky Reid had somehow hurled the unsub to his feet and taken the man's body and dragged it out of the house.

"Reid, why did you move the body?" Hotch asked, carefully, like he was handling a child or unsub.

Reid's head jerked up and panic flashed through his dark hazel eyes. "T-the house, it was w-watching, it was gonna bring him _b-back_. I c-couldn't l-leave him there, I h-had to get us _out_. _Out_!"

"Reid, man, its ok, your safe now," Morgan said, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder and feeling relief when Reid didn't flinch away.

Reid nodded and bowed his head, wringing his hands nervously. "I'm sorry," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing the thick knot in his throat.

"It wasn't your fault," Hotch said immediately. "It was self-defense." The team didn't even need to ask; they knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that their gentle friend would only kill someone if there was no other choice.

Reid seemed comforted by their faith and assurances, slumping back down onto the steps and wrapping his arms around himself. Rossi offered him his jacket, but Reid declined, saying he'd wait until the second ambulance and more police arrived.

"They're on the way," JJ said, snapping her phone shut then sitting next to Reid and holding his hand. It was warm, not hot like the unsub's flesh and blood, and not numbingly chilled like Reid's piano hands. It was just right to calm Reid down, and finally, the tight grip of the ice in his chest melted.

"I'm curious, Reid," Morgan said, sitting down on his other side as Hotch, Rossi, and Emily stood by silently. "How did you get in close enough to stab him?"

"Didn't stab him," Reid mumbled tiredly, and they were all relieved to hear the stutter gone from his voice, even if the grittiness of his tone said he'd been to hell and back. "I threw it."

"You killed an unsub by throwing a knife perfectly into his chest?" Morgan asked, baffled. "How the hell did you do that, kid?"

The barest hint of a smile crept onto Reid's face and a bit of light and warmth returned to his eyes. "I've always been able to throw knives, since I was young. It's not that hard."

Morgan laughed, mostly in surprise of the unexpected skill his meek friend possessed, but also at the genius's confidence in his knife-throwing skills.

"You'll have to show us one day, Spence." Reid smiled at JJ and gripped her hand a bit tighter.

"I suppose," he said, listening as sirens echoed across the field and blue and red lights flashed over the stalks of mysterious, waving wheat. Behind him, the house went still, and the unsub's eyes blinked.

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**A/N: Oops, this was SUPPOSED to be a nice little story about Reid getting cornered but saving himself using the knife skills then he goes and shows off his skills to the team and they all laugh and try it and everything is sunshine and rainbows. But, as usual, my muse ran away with the plot so this came out closer to "Panic in the Shadows" then to fluffiness. Man, I've just been writing really dark stuff lately. **

**Well, after given the prompt from the anon for Reid to use knife throwing, I didn't really know what situation I could use, thus my friend suggested "Reid is trapped in a kitchen and uses his knife throwing skills to escape a life or death situation." Which got combined with my eagerness to write something spooky for Halloween. But, I may write a fluffy finishing scene later with Reid showing the team his skill. Or maybe I won't, I like the ending mahahaha...(Fun Fact: I want to either learn archery, or how to throw knives like Reid! I even did research on it!)**

**Also, I got the disks for season 9 a while back and you know what that meant? A binge watching experience and a bunch of new one-shot ideas. I just need to find the time and motivation to write them, haha. But I do have one cute Garcia/Morgan friendship fic that's part done and another short idea that's brewing and that I hope to post before Halloween. So you should get updates soon, hopefully ("Assailant" is back burner right now, sorry. I have no idea how to continue, for now).**

**Another thing I wanted to say was that my other IRL friend, _Divya Pasanda_, just published her first story. So if anyone is into Frozen/Rise of the Guardian/Disney crossovers, go check it out! It's called "Rise of the Snow Queen" and not only do I think it's awesome, but I'm also her beta!**

**AND, the last thing I'm gonna say, since you're all probably bored with me rambling, is that I want to change the title of this story to something more interesting then "One-shots." So if you have an idea, tell me! Thanks, Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadian friends, and please review! :) **


	5. The Sound of Recovery

**A/N: Wow, I wrote this really fucking quick, guys. Bet you didn't expect an update the day after the last one hah? Guess it's your lucky day! Haha yeah. Happy actual Thanksgiving my Canadian friends! **

** This is just a short continuation to my previous one-shot, "The Sound of Knives." It was supposed to be light and fluffy, but I got kind of a dark undertone to it, so tell me what you think please! And if you for some reason didn't read "The Sound of Knives," this won't make much sense.**

**Thanks again to _Annber03_, and also to _marcallie_, who pointed out the fact that Reid was hurt by the unsub and I completely forgot about it as I was writing the ending. So let's just say that at the time nobody noticed Reid was hurt since he was already covered in the unsub's blood and Reid didn't feel it since he was still high on adrenaline and fear. **

**Also, this is not JJ/Reid, I'm a firm Will/JJ shipper. I just really enjoy Reid's friendship with JJ. And I always kinda imagine Morgan and Emily acting like siblings, annoying and trying to best each other, but also super protective and loyal. But no, I don't ship them either. But you go ahead and read it how you want. **

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**Summary: The ideals Reid endured with the crazy unsub in the abandoned house aren't easily forgotten, but Reid knows he'll be ok, with the help of his team. **

**Warnings: Nothing really... *squints in amazement***

**Disclaimer: I do not own the marvelous show that is Criminal Minds. **

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**The Sound of Recovery**

"Come on Spence, you promised!"

"No I didn't!" Reid objected, but he allowed JJ to drag him down to the training area in good spirit. He laughed aloud when he got there and saw Morgan standing there and grinning, holding a container chock full of knives. The rest of the team hovered nearby, looking curious and relaxed.

"Alright Pretty Boy, time to show off some skill," Morgan declared, handing the box off to Emily who was standing next to him. With the female agent holding the box securely, he dug around in it until he pulled out a simple black throwing dagger, about three inches long and sharpened to a wicked tip. Morgan spun it in his hand once then offered it to Reid, grinning.

Reid took it, admiring the balance, and looked up at his expectant team. "You guys really want to see this, don't you?"

"Hell yeah!" Morgan laughed. "Look, I even set up a target for you!" The dark-skinned agent gestured dramatically where a dart-board sloppily painted with red, blue, and white paint hung precariously on the opposite wall, maybe twenty or twenty-five feet away. "Stop stalling, you know you want to."

Reid shot him a small smirk, because yeah, he did want to. Out of all of his abilities, knife throwing was basically his only physical skill and it wasn't often that he got the time to show it off. So drawing back his arm and pinching the blade between his fingers, he launched it fiercely at the target. It whizzed through the air, reminding Reid for a moment of the unsub's machete aimed at his throat, and slammed into the board with a satisfying _thock_. Reid lowered his arm, wincing at the tug of pain from his shoulder where the unsub had injured him, and scrutinized his perfect bull's-eye.

"Whoa," muttered JJ, right next to him. Noticing his flicker of pain she suddenly looked concerned. "I completely forgot, you got hurt! Are you ok to do this? Or should you-?"

"I'm fine," Reid assured her and the rest of the team. "And that was too easy," he scoffed. A sly glint appeared in Morgan's eyes, immediately picking up on the challenge in Reid's tone.

"Alright then," he said, grabbing a knife at random from the box Emily was still holding. "Try _this _one, Genius."

It was a plain looking hunting knife, maybe nine inches long, one side jagged while the other was smooth. Reid barely inspected it though before spinning it in his palm and throwing it flawlessly right next to the throwing dagger. Hotch collected each knife on the board and Morgan kept handing him more to throw – kitchen knives, switchblades, handy letter-openers, scalpels, a short machete, even a flimsy butter-knife still covered in a bit of jam from where Garcia had used it on her toast – all thrown exactly into the center of the dart-board.

The team's shock wore off and soon they were cheering every time Reid flung a sharpened instrument at the wall. Garcia even managed to convince him to try throwing her pen, which wasn't exactly a knife, but that he managed to prick the center of the board with anyway, before it fell to the floor.

The last knife – a beautiful camouflage hunting dagger that Reid really wanted to keep, since it balanced so nicely – was hurled at the board, and like the rest, quivered to a stop on the bull's-eye. Reid took a little bow, not even caring that his shoulder was throbbing since he was so immensely pleased with himself. The team hooted and clapped, and Emily dropped all the blades already used back into the box.

"Alright, kid," Morgan said, obviously impressed. "Where did you learn that?"

Reid wandered over and pulled the hunting dagger out, twirling it in his hands. "Magic."

"Magic?"

"I wanted to learn how to do magic tricks with knives, particularly the circus tricks with someone throwing daggers at a spinning wheel with someone strapped to it. So I taught myself how."

"You taught yourself?" Emily said, astounded. "That's amazing."

"Did you ever do the circus trick with someone?" Garcia asked eagerly, and Reid laughed.

"I tried once, buried a knife in their arm, and decided to stick with targets."

"Oh my god, Reid, that's horrible," JJ giggled. "Who was it?"

This time, Reid's smile took on a sheepish expression. "Gideon."

The team rocked with laughter, even more when Hotch said, "I always wondered how he got that scar on his arm."

A little embarrassed, and blushing up a storm, Reid said, "He said it wasn't my fault, since he was the one that moved and got hit, but I didn't want to hurt anyone, so I decided not to do it again."

"It's very impressive though," Rossi commented. "I had a friend in the army, could throw knives just like Boy Genius here. Only thing is, it took him nearly twenty years to perfect the art, and that was just with general blades. Not… butter-knives, who even brought that?" Garcia put up her hand and he sighed. "Should have known."

"Alright, for real though," Morgan said, wiping away tears of mirth. "You need to show me how to do that."

So Reid chose the most balanced, lightest blade from the box –claiming they needed to start out easy – and showed the older agent how to place his thumb on the spine of the dagger and grip the blade using his index finger. Morgan held it loosely, careful not to let the razor edge of the blade slice into his palm. The team all backed up, and Morgan took a step back and attempted to copy how Reid threw it. The blade arched gracefully through the air, flashing silver in the light as it spun, and…

The handle hit the board uselessly with a _thud_ and the knife clattered to the floor noisily. The girls burst into snickers, and Morgan glared at them and the blade on the floor, like it was their fault he had missed.

"No, no," Reid chuckled lightly. "You're holding it too loosely. Firmly, but relaxed. You're also putting too much spin on it. Just let the knife be an extension of your arm." Reid drew back his own knife, and after letting the team inspect his grip for a moment, threw it accurately to a quavering stop on the bull's-eye. "Like that," he concluded, straightening.

Soon, the entire team was trying it out. Unsurprisingly, Hotch and Rossi were pretty good at it, but to the delight of the others, Morgan and Emily were the ones that were having the most trouble. Even Garcia managed to get her blade to stick to the board, much to Morgan's disbelief, since he had yet to even get his dagger to stay on the board after throwing it. The empty training room rang with the sounds of blades hitting the wall, frustrated swearing, and noises of amusement. JJ was the one that noticed Reid rubbing his shoulder and guilt flashed through her ocean-blue eyes. She abandoned her attempts at knife throwing and came to stand next to him.

"How have you been doing?" she asked softly, watching Emily try and fail to hit the board. Morgan laughed at her, and she threatened to stab him with the next blade if he didn't shut up.

"I'm ok," he said automatically, but when JJ glanced at him he deflated. It wasn't easy for him to lie to him.

"I've been having nightmares," he admitted. She waited in silence for him to go on. "The unsub is there… and it's dark. I can't see him, but I can see his weapon. The machete." Reid rubbed his neck unconsciously. "I'm running, but I never seem to move farther from him. Then, just before he gets to me, the house swallows as both up and lets us fall through darkness until… I see the earth beneath us, and I scream, but I always wake up before I hit the ground."

JJ gently touched his shoulder, running a finger over the bulge of bandages beneath his white button-up shirt and sighed unhappily. "I'm sorry, Spence."

He shrugged, then regretted it when pain flared in his shoulder-blade. "It's not your fault."

"No," she agreed. "But I wish there was _something _I could do to help."

"You just did."

He shot her a quick, sly look and JJ smiled. She gripped Reid's hand tightly for a moment before letting it go and letting him bury his back into the pockets of his pants.

There was a solid _thock _from the wall next to them and a triumphant shout from Morgan, who had finally managed to land a hit, although it was nowhere near the bull's-eye and the knife shook violently in its skewed position. Emily rolled her eyes at him, complaining that she'd already succeeded in doing that and had therefore beaten him.

JJ and Reid laughed with the rest of the team, and for the first time since the incident with the deranged unsub, Reid's eyes contained nothing of the shadows that had plagued him. They all knew he'd be alright – he was a tough kid, and had survived through just as much and more before. And he knew the team was there for him, prepared to step in and lend him a helping hand along the way. So Reid smiled, and he chortled at his teammates bantering, and he was just grateful that the only lasting marks the unsub had left on him was the scar on his shoulder. Because he knew, with complete certainty, that this ideal wouldn't haunt him forever. He was already recovering.

Morgan's knife finally fell off the dart-board as he ranted at Emily, claiming he'd won, and the team and Reid howled with laughter.

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**A/N: To be honest, I was thinking of starting up a bunch of connected stories since I really like "The Sound of..." titles. But I don't really know how I'd continue this, so that ideas gone lol. **

**Also, I did research into knife throwing and its pretty neat. The main site I used was "Knifethrowing info" and the technique Reid was teaching the team is one of the easier methods called the hammer grip. Or at least that's what I was trying to describe, I'm in no way a knife throwing expert. I just think it's a freakin' badass talent that I want to learn. **

**So tell me what you guys think or if you have any new ideas for me. I'm just begging for prompts to write!**


	6. A Little Halloween Encouragement

**A/N: Ok, I didn't even hit 1k words on this so it's more of a drabble than a one-shot but whatever. This is the "short idea I'm brewing for Halloween" I mentioned in chapter 4 and it didn't come out how I wanted, but I'm too frustrated with it to change it (and also I somehow avoided putting my typical amount of angst/drama into it so wow I'm just gonna leave it alone).**

**Also, it looks like more and more people are picking up on this story and leaving me reviews and I couldn't be happier, so I'm gonna try to go for writing a new one-shot each week. We'll see how long that lasts, lol. **

**Thanks to _cardcaptor eternity _and _aspiegiraffe _for your prompts, I'm planning on writing them soon, and also thanks to my fav person _Annber03_! You guys are all freaking awesome! ****Also, to _fishtrek, _I did continue "The Sound of Knives" but maybe you meant even more chapters? If so, please tell me some ideas with how I could continue it. **

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**Summary: Halloween, while being a fun and spooky holiday, also has its stressful moments. **

**Warnings: None, this is just humor and fluffiness. *whistles in amazement* **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds. But I do own my horrible ideas, and Rossi in a hot-dog costume lol.**

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**A Little Halloween Encouragement**

A swift knock was made on the door, but Morgan didn't really pause before actually entering the room. "Hey, Baby Girl, you-"

He stopped in the middle of his sentence from the unusual sight before him. Garcia was standing in the middle of her office in a form-fitting, sleek black cat suit, twirling in slow circles in front of a small mirror propped up on her desk strewn with fluffy pens, nodding bobble-heads, and her blinking computers. One of her hands was prodding the chub of her belly and her sharp brown eyes were critically analyzing every angle of her body. At Morgan's loud entrance, she gave a tiny squeak of shock and whipped around, puffy eyes widening at the site of her friend in the doorway.

"Morgan, you scared me!"

"Sorry, Garcia, you coming? The party's about to start without us."

At the woman's silence, and the observation of her red eyes she was trying to hide, Morgan eased himself into the room and shut the door firmly behind him. "Baby Girl, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said quietly. Morgan frowned and moved closer to her, taking one of her hands in his.

"Ok, now no lying; what's the matter?"

Garcia gave a sniffle and said quickly, like saying it faster would make it easier, "I know I shouldn't say anything or bug anyone and I was totally stoked to go to this Halloween party, I mean, I was the one to organize it, but I don't think I can go through with this. I mean, look at me!" She waved her hand at the mirror but didn't look at it, like it would bite her if she did. Morgan wasn't an expert on the subject of women, nor on the behavior and bizarre mood-swings his friend could have, but he did think he knew what the problem was.

"Garcia, are you really considering not going to the Halloween party because you don't think your costume fits you perfectly?"

Garcia sniffed again and carefully wiped her eyes with one finger, trying not to smudge her black eye-liner. "I know, it's so silly."

"Not at all," Morgan chuckled. "Everyone has their moments of self-image issues. But Sugar, let me tell you a little something." Morgan rubbed her hand and waited till her eyes met his. "You are the most beautiful, most unique, most confident, not to mention sexy," he said, winking at her, "woman I know. You have nothing to be concerned about."

Garcia gave a small smile and asked in a slightly watery voice, "Even the great Derek Morgan has his moments of self-doubt?"

He grinned and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Yes, I do. Now let's go out there and kill, hah?"

Garcia took one last moment to wipe away the last remaining tears, straighten her cat suit, then hooked her arm around Morgan's and beamed up at him. "Alright, my Chocolate God, lead the way."

The sight of Garcia in a cat suit with an arm wrapped around Derek Morgan wearing nothing but cut-off shorts and a pair of bunny ears and a white tail governed quite a few looks that evening, but neither of them blinked twice at it. JJ, dressed up as Wonder Woman, was the first one drunk from the spiked punch-bowl, followed closely by Emily dressed as the Disney princess Rapunzel (nobody knew who had talked her into that one). Hotch was probably supposed to stop them from taking shots off of each other's chests, since they'd probably all regret that in the morning, but he couldn't really find it in himself to care. His head was a little dizzy and his left side was tingling, a sure sign he was also, or on his way to being, blackout drunk. He hadn't even noticed that someone had stolen the wig and hat to his pirate costume right off of his head.

Rossi, surprisingly, just leaned over the railing and overlooked the chaos of the office, swirling a drink in hand and trying to look dignified in the hot-dog costume the team had conned him into. Occasionally everyone would hear his booming laugh echo over the crowd, watching all the action from a bird's-eye view.

The best part though was Reid's costume. A homemade horror of some sort of demon, complete with black robes with very realistic blood, red contact lenses, and a clay mask twisted and morphed into an expression of terror. Even Morgan would have to admit that the getup sent a shiver of disgust and fear down his spine. Reid's smug little grin when he hands-down won the costume contest was just made amusing by the fact he was slurring his words and nearly falling over from the three measly drinks that Morgan had practically forced on him.

By the time everyone had staggered out of the building and into an army of waiting taxis, it was well past midnight. Needless to say, the next morning everyone had massive hangovers and spent the day basically hiding their faces under their files to block out the bright fluorescent lights beating down on them.

Well, everyone but Rossi. That bastard just laughed at them and didn't show any signs whatsoever that he'd had more than one drink the night before.

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**A/N: Garcia's a pretty sexually confident lady, but like all larger people, I suspect she sometimes struggles with her weight. And I know I always kinda stress on my fav holiday since I worry I won't fit any of the costumes either. So have some positive body reinforcement! Miss Kristen Vangsness is gorgeous! And you're all beautiful, so go and rock your style this Halloween, or any other time! Let the Garcia within out! I BELIEVE IN YOU!**

**As always, please review/leave prompts or suggestions for a new title! :)**


	7. What Used To Be

**A/N: Hey guys, I'm back after more than a month. Figures I'd get writer's block as soon as I said I'd try to write a one-shot a week, hah? **

**Anyways, _cardcaptor eternity _wanted de-aged Reid so here you go! It came out more depressing than I originally planned but I've been feeling kinda down and nostalgic lately so that's probably where it came from. Anyways, hope you enjoy despite how short it is, and thanks for the bunch of reviews I got for previous chapters. You guys rock! Especially you _Annber03_!:)**

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**Summary: An unsub turns Reid into a five-year old. Morgan reflects. **

**Warnings: None. *squints in disbelief***

**Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds or Looney Tunes lol. **

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**What Used To Be**

The air was sweet with the decaying scent of leaves. A typical smell of autumn, overtaken with the water-logged streets slick with rain and oily leaked gasoline. There wasn't anyone around, which was fine by Morgan, and he looked both ways before crossing the street. The small child clasping his hand skipped happily aside him, his legs a blur as he tried to keep up with the adult's long strides.

"Slower!" he complained, and Morgan adjusted his speed for the young child, who chirped his thanks and beamed up at the man. They moved out of the street – the child joyfully leaping over the curb and onto the sidewalk – and then onto the tufts of yellowed grass drowning in frosty mud, hardened by the nip in the air.

Morgan clenched the child's hand a bit tighter and asked, "You warm enough, Buddy?"

The small kid swung on the agent's arm and said, "Yep!" The borrowed leather jacket Morgan had given him went down to the five-years old knees, and the sleeves had been rolled up at least four times to keep them from obscuring his hands. "Can I go play now?"

The excitement on the young face was unmistakable. The flushed cheeks, the askew glasses, the locks of golden blond hair spilling out from underneath the red tuque Garcia had knitted for him; it was simply adorable. His smile was contagious, and Morgan found himself grinning down at him, although his heart felt heavy with sadness and worry.

"Sure, Bud. Be careful though, it might be slippery."

The child paid him no heed and scrambled eagerly onto the gravel surrounding the playground, scattering rocks and clods of dirt and splinters of wood. Morgan watched as he climbed up the steps, paused, and turned back to wave on the platform he perched on. Morgan waved back then settled himself on the steel bench, eyes still glued to the kid.

Not just any kid though. The small child currently hovering next to the slide, possibly debating on whether or not to go down, was none other than their team's genius, Dr. Spencer Reid.

They weren't sure how it had happened, how it was possible, but Reid had been reduced to a five-year old (or at the very least, that was their closest guess since the small Reid didn't know his exact age). The child didn't remember that he was an adult, didn't remember much of anything except his parents – who were on "vacation" – and his team. But he was still a genius; even at that age, it was apparent. Reading through books flawlessly, in impossibly short periods of time and at a skill level far beyond a five-year old. Completing an entire Sudoku book in under an hour. Knowing and understanding things a young adolescent shouldn't even have necessary brain for.

Yet, he was also still a child. Refusing to eat his vegetables, talking a mile a minute to anyone that would listen, holding an ungodly obsession with dinosaurs, and thinking cartoons – preferably _Loony Tunes_ – were hilarious. And even though they had only had to take care of little Reid for a month now, everyone had quickly sunk into a familiarity with the situation.

Morgan was the one that had first taken him in, and already a room back at his home was overflowing with colouring books, stuffed animals, and new clothes for the boy. Garcia was mostly responsible for those, and like the toque, had also knitted him mittens for the weather that was only going to get closer.

Little Reid was fine as well, surprisingly. He didn't seem at all concerned that his parents weren't around and happily stayed with Morgan, and then with Garcia when the team was in the field. And despite themselves, the team had quickly become attached to the small boy, unaccustomed to such a side of Reid.

That was the origin of Morgan's worry and grief. This Reid, so tiny and full of life, didn't know what lay in his future. All the bullying, his father leaving, him taking responsibility for his sick mother, _Hankel_. It made Morgan sick with longing, wishing his friend could stay like this, free from scars and nightmares.

"Morgan! Morgan! Watch me! I'm goin' down the slide!"

Morgan gave the child a thumbs-up to show he was watching and the little Reid finally went down the slide, not even hesitating. As soon as his miniature boots hit the ground he was off running and shouting gleefully at his success, his breath steaming in the chilly air. Morgan stood so that the boy collided with his leg, pulling on his jeans and beaming, face full of dimples.

"Did ya see me?" he exclaimed breathlessly.

Morgan laughed, throwing back his head and letting out all his emotions in the sound. If the little Reid thought it was a bit off, he didn't show any knowledge of it. He just took Morgan's hand and squeezed, hopping up and down. "Yeah, I saw Buddy."

"Swings?" he begged, but Morgan checked the time and knew his ten minute coffee break was almost over and that they needed to head back to the BAU.

"Sorry, little man. We have to head back now."

The child's face crumpled and he whined slightly, but he didn't break his hold on Morgan's hand. Despite little Reid being like most children one thing he didn't do was disobey or cry at random things very much, which everyone was most thankful for. Morgan guessed it was a result of his intelligence that gave him a higher maturity level then most five-year olds.

"Come on, let's get some hot chocolate," Morgan said.

The boy's eyes lit up immediately, and chattering away, he happily abandoned the thought of five more minutes of playing for a hot drink smothered in Garcia's special brand of whipped cream, cinnamon, and vanilla. Morgan was only half paying attention, but he smiled and nodded along, leading the boy back to the sidewalk.

Maybe it was selfish, but Morgan was quite content to never find a cure for Reid's de-aging and let him remain in this permanent, optimistic frame of mind where he could finally grow up happy.

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**A/N: I was going to make it longer but I kinda lost inspiration and didn't really know how to end it. In other news, I'm posting this to avoid homework and distract myself from the sounds of someone moving upstairs even though I'm the only one home. I'm really hoping its just the dog but there's no way in hell I'm gonna go check. **

**Fun fact: I was originally gonna make a de-aged story where Reid, Emily, Morgan, and maybe JJ get de-aged so the rest of the team needs to take care of them but I doubt I'll do that anymore. THAT story was supposed to humorous (because Morgan and Emily being like siblings would both be adorable and hilarious) but it was also supposed to carry a different view of Reid. As in he's a traumatized child because of all the bullying and isolation from his peers. However, I have a headcanon that when Reid was really young his family was actually pretty stable and happy, since his mother was doing ok and other children didn't really understand how much smarter he was then them, and therefore didn't turn against him (kinda like in _Matilda_). It was only when he got older and his mom's illness got worse that everything went to shit. I can relate Reid, I can relate. **

**Anyways, reviews would be appreciated.**


	8. The Demon Sir Mittens McFluffykins

**A/N: Hey guys. You know that mood you'll get into where if someone in your family *cough my mom cough* so much as says something like "pass the peas, please" you have to grit your teeth to prevent screaming "FUCK YOU!" at them? Yeah, that's the mood I'm in, which is kinda odd since this is such a light-hearted story. Whatever, I hope you guys enjoy even though its so short. **

**Also, I know a couple of you have given my prompts and I'll admit I haven't started them yet but I promise I AM planning on doing them so stay patient, and thanks to everyone for your lovely reviews! Especially you, _Annber03 _;)**

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**Summary: A panicked message sends Morgan scrambling to help Garcia. When he gets there though, he learns all is not what it seems (bad summary, sorry). **

**Warnings: Mild violence, swearing. **

**Disclaimer: All I want for Christmas is to own Criminal Minds...**

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**The Demon Sir Mittens McFluffykins**

Morgan raced up the steps of the apartment building, his feet barely skimming the steps and his heart thudding in his chest. By the time he made it to the landing, he was panting big-time. Not because he was out of shape, but because he had just run up twenty slights of stairs, and jeez, he'd driven like a maniac to get here so quick, so he was probably also high on adrenaline, _shut up_. He didn't stop to catch his breath before pounding on the door to his friend's apartment, noticing that it was a violent shade of wine-purple.

_How on earth did she get the landlord to agree to that? _Morgan thought distractedly.

The door whipped open, and standing there in baggy pink pajama pants decorated in dancing black-and-white cats with a matching top was Garcia. Her hair was drawn back hastily by a polka-dotted headband, her face only half done up in colourful makeup, and she looked incredibly worried.

"Garcia! You ok?"

"Morgan, I'm so glad you're here! Quick, come in, come in," she said, gesturing with her hands into her apartment. Morgan followed her concernedly, scanning her for harm. To his great relief, she didn't appear to be injured, just a bit flustered.

"You said there was an emergency," he said, remembering the panicked text message that had him hurrying to her side. He hadn't even bothered to put on a jacket or let Clooney in from the yard before rushing over.

"Yes, yes, my love, there is!" Garcia wasn't wearing any shoes, just a pair of bright yellow duck slippers, so her steps were muffled on the wood-floors. Morgan's echoed loudly, and it struck Morgan on how quiet it was. That was unusual; Garcia always had some music playing in the background, or a TV showing a cooking show on, or _anything_ that broke the silence.

"Garcia, _what's wrong_?"

She stopped suddenly in the middle of her kitchen, and wailed, "That!" Morgan followed her pointing finger and blinked in disbelief.

Hunched on top of Garcia's refrigerator, as far back as possible, was a kitten. Its fur was sticking up in terror and it bared little, sharp-looking fangs at the humans, hissing angrily.

"Baby Girl, the emergency is a _cat_?" Morgan turned to her and shook his head. "I thought you were in trouble!"

"I will be if you don't get Mittens down from there!" she retorted.

"Wait, you named your cat _Mittens_? Really, Garcia?"

"It's a perfectly acceptable, common name!"

Morgan rubbed his hands over his head and asked, "When did you even get a cat?"

"First off, it's a kitten," Garcia said, waving her hand at the creature hissing at them. "And secondly, I texted you so you could _save _him, not play twenty questions with me!"

Both of them stared at the kitten for a few moments, Garcia with that defiant look on her face and Morgan wondering if he should laugh or not. Judging by the genuine worry and pity Garcia had for the tiny fuzz-ball, Morgan decided against laughing and instead disguised it as a cough before clearing his throat loudly.

"I nearly killed myself getting here, thinking you were being attacked, you know."

"Sorry," she said, seeming to just realize how much she had freaked her friend out. Her eyes met his in horror. "I didn't mean to!"

"No, no, it's fine. So, um, what happened?" Morgan asked, changing the subject before Garcia could start babbling apologies.

"Well, I've noticed him hanging around in the alley and so I started leaving food out, like tuna and stuff – cats also really like chicken apparently – and they do, like big-time, he came right to me. So I was going to clean him up and give him a home here. I mean, I've always wanted a pet, but my parents were allergic and I never had time or a stable enough home before I joined the BAU, so I figured now would be a good enough time."

"Right," said Morgan. "That's nice, but what am _I_ supposed to do?"

"Be a tall person and get him down from there?" she suggested meekly.

Morgan couldn't exactly refuse, so he stepped forward and leaned on his tip-toes to get a better view of the cat. "Here, kitty, we're not gonna hurt ya." He stretched out his arm and reached for the cat.

Suspicious amber eyes glared at him and the kitten arched its back as Morgan's hand got closer to it. Just as Morgan brushed its fur on the back of its neck, it yowled and sunk its teeth into his knuckles, its ears folded back hostilely. Morgan let out a yell and jerked his hand back – unfortunately, the kitten didn't let go.

Its mini paws, all four of them, wrapped around Morgan's entire hand, razor claws digging into the flesh determinedly. It also kept right on biting and tearing into his knuckles. It would have been kind of cute – the kitten was smaller than his palm, and it really _was_ adorable – except that it hurt _so damn much_.

"Ow, ow, Garcia!" he shouted, grabbing the little monster by the back of its neck. It couldn't bite any more, thanks to Morgan pulling its head back, but it still refused to retract its nails from his skin. With Garcia's help, they managed to peel each claw out individually, leaving the kitten hanging limply in Morgan's grasp. His entire hand was covered in bloody puncture marks that had just barely broken the skin, and his knuckles were thoroughly scraped up, like he'd gone two rounds on an unsub's face.

Morgan swore loudly and glared at the kitten, rubbing his hand, but Garcia gently took it from the agent's grasp and cuddled it to her chest.

"Aw, my poor baby got scared!" she cooed. To Morgan's disbelief, the kitten didn't attack her – in fact, the little demon started to _purr_. Murmuring soft baby-talk, Garcia took it straight to her bathroom and plopped it down in the sink. The kitten sniffed the facets interestedly.

"Come on, Morgan, you still need to help me!"

Knowing he was going to regret it, Morgan followed Garcia and so began an hour-long battle between the furry demon and the FBI agent. Garcia gently cleaned the kitten with flowery smelling shampoo while Morgan held it down, trying hard not to yell every time a cat fang managed to sink itself into his hand. By the time Garcia wrapped the animal in a towel to dry it, Morgan was nursing about fifty puncture wounds. Luckily none of them had broken the skin, but it still hurt like a bitch.

"There we go!" said Garcia happily, releasing the kitten from the towel. It took a moment to glare at Morgan scoldingly before settling down on Garcia's couch and going to sleep. Bastard.

Morgan let Garcia disinfect his hand and wrap it in bandages, hissing at how it stung, but overall finding he couldn't exactly regret his actions when his friend seemed so happy. So he kept quiet and just glared at the kitten on the couch when Garcia wasn't looking – that is, until he realized it was stupid to glare at a freaking _sleeping cat_.

"Thanks for all your help, my knight in shining amour! Sir Mittens McFluffykins thanks you!"

"No problem, Baby Girl," Morgan sighed, surprised when Garcia gave him a hug. He returned it though, laughing a bit. "Just keep the little demon away from me – I don't think it particularly likes me."

"Sure thing, my chocolate god." Her eyes suddenly lit up. "Ooooo, I should set up a kitty play-date with Reid! That would be sooooo much fun!"

"Reid has a kitten?" Morgan asked, racking his brains to remember if the genius had ever mentioned that before.

"Yeah, Oscar, remember? Reid got him after that case last year."

"Oh, right," Morgan said, remembering the tiny black and white cat Reid had taken in. More specifically, he remembered Garcia squealing about how cute he was, with his "sock" feet and the pattern on his chest that looked like a tuxedo. Mittens, in contrast to Reid's sleek cat, was a tangled ball of dirt-grey fur. Still, Morgan doubted Garcia cared whether or not her kitten was as handsome as Reid's.

"Well, I'll see you later." Morgan waved as he exited Garcia's apartment, chuckling when he could hear her excited voice yelling down the phone at a (very confused) Reid. He felt a bit bad leaving Reid to get caught up with the cat from hell, but then again, it would also probably be pretty funny.

He was just glad he owned a dog instead.

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**A/N: I'm pretty sure this came as a prompt from my IRL friend _TheChiaroscuro _with something like "Garcia gets a kitty, Morgan is the voluntary kitty helper, *evil face*" so this is what came out from that. This is another example of "I started it then took so long to pick it up again that I forgot where I was going with it so I just kinda rushed the ending." Still, I hope some of you got a chuckle out of it and maybe forget the stress of the holidays for a few minutes (and I know a lot of you had Finals too, hope you did ok!). I know that at my house the stress is through the roof; I haven't had the chance to relax without my mom screaming at me for about a month now (which is also why I haven't been able to write in a month), and that's just 'cause a bunch of my relatives are coming to visit. **

**Anyways, I'm gonna go curl up under my blankets now. Maybe cry. Then I'm gonna try to sleep since my sleeping problem is just getting worse and worse and I feel like crap. **

**So, I probably won't be uploading anything until after Christmas, since I'm gonna be busy, so I'll just say Happy Holidays to you guys now and please review!**

**Fun fact: If anyone noticed, this story is implied to be in the same universe as my G_uardian &amp; Assailant _series. Technically Oscar is mentioned to be Reid's in those stories but I also headcanon Reid as owning a cat outside that series, so Oscar kinda jumps around lol. However, "the case" could apply as Reid's kidnapping and changing in that series, so make of it what you like!**


	9. Betrayal

**A/N: Hey guys! I meant to finish this up last month, in honor of it being a year since I've started this series, but I kinda forgot so oops, here it is a month late. This also happens to be the 10th one-shot in this series, so yay for me! Here's to another year of me improving my writing! **

**This is a theme I've wanted to write for a long time. Like most of my stories, it kinda spiraled out of my control and I forgot where I was really going with it (if it seems to get a bit stranger or unattached as you go along, that's why). I don't really like the ending, but it's the best I could do. Anyways, hope you enjoy!**

**EDIT: Thanks to SpenceFTW for pointing out that it's not Mauve, but Maeve!**

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**Summary: Reid reflects on those that have betrayed him, and what those betrayals truly mean to him. How it has changed him, shaped him. **

**Warnings: Just sad themes, mentions of blood, spoilers throughout the seasons. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned CM I'd touch a bit more on this in the actual show. **

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**Betrayal**

The first time Reid was betrayed was when he was at the tender age of seven years old. The sun was warm in the park, the grass a brilliant and alive green. He was sitting on one of the benches, immersed in an ancient paperback textbook on string theory that he'd gotten at the library. The young boy was so zoned out that he didn't register someone standing in front of him until lukewarm ice cream dripped onto his shoes.

"Spencer, I got you an ice cream." It was Ally, Spencer's one and only friend. They'd met years ago, at this very same park, at this very same bench. It had been after Spencer had beaten yet another random adult at chess; he'd been resting on the bench, waiting for his mom to stop talking to another parent so they could go home when she'd approached him, thrusting a popsicle into his hands and declaring that they were going to be best friends.

Spencer looked up now (Ally was the only one who could ever break him from the spell books cast on him) and smiled. She looked the same as she always did; tall for her age, rusty brown hair tucked behind her ears and away from her bleached black skin, her eyes a sparkling light brown. But it surprised Spencer to realize that although she was holding out the dripping cone to him (cookie dough, his favourite), she wasn't smiling her signature dimpled grin, promising adventure and fun. Her small forehead was mostly smoothed – a few wrinkles of worry appearing – and if anything, her eyes carried a deeper heaviness Spencer had never seen on her face before. It was uncharacteristic, and his hand froze from its instinctual raise to take the frozen treat meant for him.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He had hoped that she'd smile and say that nothing was the matter. Or maybe she would plop down next to him and go into one of her energetic rants about how the ice cream man had almost dropped her cone, _again_, when he'd handed it to her. Or maybe she was just tired, unable to sleep as her parents argued in the next room over (Spencer could relate).

Instead she didn't respond and slowly, heavily, sat down next to him on the bench. Her ice cream was untouched, the strawberry scent wafting in the breeze to tingle Spencer's nostrils and leaking a soft pink down Ally's hands to mingle with the brown streaks of cookie dough. She never was one to shy away from things that got her dirty – in fact, Spencer often thought she relished in it.

"We need to talk."

Spencer clutched the ice cream cone to his chest, for once not caring that it was getting on his t-shirt and his mom would likely get upset, which would upset his dad, which would lead to a shouting match that had Reid fleeing to hide in his closet, a blanket draped over his head and a book in his lap to try and vainly block out the blame of tearing his family apart.

"We can't be friends anymore."

Spencer's mouth went dry. The sun was suddenly too hot, the breeze no longer cool, but like the moist, warm pants of an animal breathing on his skin – all over his skin, covering his entire body. She wasn't looking at him, so he couldn't see her light bronze eyes. He couldn't see the mischievous sparkle that no doubt was hidden behind the hair covering her face.

He gave a choked, small laugh. "Y-yeah right, Ally. Y-you're funny."

Her voice didn't waver as she repeated, "We can't be friends anymore."

It wasn't a joke. Her voice was too sober, too sincere. And she wouldn't joke around about this kind of stuff anyways. What had brought this on? Had Spencer done something wrong, said something to hurt her feelings? He racked his brains but nothing came to mind. Just yesterday they'd gone down to the creek and thrown stale bread at the ducks and stirred the water with sticks to see the minnows dart and flash in the filtered light from beyond the weeping willows.

But when Reid thought about it, she'd been quieter recently. More withdrawn, not sharing her usual complaints of her parent's fighting (to cover up her true hurt, that Spencer had never pushed her on). She hadn't eaten as much when she had come over to visit at Spencer's house (they never went to hers, she said it was too messy and boring), and it'd been a while now since she'd dragged Spencer around the park, searching for spare coins they could save up to buy double-decker ice cream waffle cones with hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles on top. In fact, yesterday down at the creek had been the first time in months that she'd been at her usual relaxed, carefree self – he could still remember her belly-deep laugh that had echoed over the water when he'd thought he'd seen a snake and sort of screamed bloody murder (she had laughed so hard she had barely been able to choke out that he'd sounded like a "baby bird falling from the nest" before collapsing on the grassy bank, unable to breathe).

"A-ally, I-I…" His stutter was back – it came out when he was nervous, upset, or basically any time he _wasn't_ relaxed. For the first time since he'd initially met her, he felt awkward and panicky in her presence. "W-what d-did I do?"

Her head jerked up and suddenly she was spitting at him, growling out words he'd always imagined but never dreamed she'd actually say out loud. "What haven't you done!" she snarled bitterly. "You're awkward and weird! All my other friends don't understand why I hang out with a… with a freak like you!"

"Ally…" he whispered, startled and panicked, the feeling of shocked tears gathering behind his eyes.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore!" she shouted, and her eyes drilled into his. He visibly recoiled, the bitterness in her voice and the pain in her expression slamming into his chest like a brick. Tears spilled down her cheeks and it looked _wrong, wrong, wrong_. He had caused that. Spencer Reid, freak of the century, had damaged this beautiful, talented girl who up till now, had been his universe.

Apologies tumbled from his tongue, pleading for forgiveness, empty promises that he could change, anything to make her stay as his friend. He needed her – Ally was his sister, the only one besides his parents who he loved. She was the first thing he thought of when he woke up (wondering what she'd say to cheer him up and what he'd say to cheer her up, after they both had sleepless nights filled with the wrathful words of adults that a young child couldn't comprehend). She was the only one that could stop the flow of useless facts streaming from his mouth, and he in turn was the only one to get her to sit still and lay on the grass with him, just savouring the joy of nature in silence.

"Forget it," she snapped, disgust under her words as she stood up. Spencer wanted to follow, but his feet felt like they were tied to the earth. She started to storm away, wiping viciously at her bloodshot eyes.

"B-but Ally, y-you're my _best_ _friend_," he called.

Without missing a beat, she whirled and said in a voice as cool as the creek had been on his sockless feet the day before, "Spencer, you were _never _my friend."

Spencer sat for a long time after she'd ran away from him, letting the cookie dough melt over his hands and staring at the pink mess she'd left at his feet. Eventually he let his own ice cream drop into the puddle of soggy cone and now-liquid frozen treat. The pink mixed into the brown, turning a muddy red colour. Like blood. Like he'd been stabbed and the people walking through the park saw nothing. Knew nothing of the pain the young boy sitting on the bench was feeling. Like he was silently dying without a chance of recovery.

He left when it was clear that night was coming in, when the young kids playing on the slides were traded in for the grungy teenagers with leering faces and cigarettes between clenched lips. He still visited the park, to play chess, but he never again went within fifty feet of _their_ bench. Sometimes though, he'd go down to the creek and remember their last true day together – a day he'd taken for granted at the time, he realized.

The worst part was school, where without her at his side the attacks on him became especially vicious and cruel. He'd see her sometimes, in the background, watching the antics of their peers taunt and bruise him; and although sometimes he could swear he saw tears gleaming in her dull, ugly brown eyes, she never once interfered. She walked away with the rest of her other friends, not speaking a word, and the kids would sneer and say, "Guess your bulldog is done protecting you now, hah freak-show?"

The words and blows stung, but nothing as much as the nothingness of her actions, and he would think _it can't get any worse than this_. He didn't know that in a few years he'd be stripped and tied to an icy cold goalpost, that he'd go home and curl up in his closet and clutch the house phone to his chest like he'd done so with his ice cream that summer day, and his fingers would hover over the keypad. Longing to call her and let her voice warm up the chill in his body and spirit.

He never did, of course.

And it didn't matter, because after a few months his intense genius was recognized and he was taken out of the elementary school and placed into the high-school across town. He never saw her again after that, except for tiny peeks of her in stores with her mom or sitting on the swings at the park. He never talked to her. She never acknowledged that he was there.

When he went away to university after graduating high school at just age twelve, the tiny peeks at her continuing life went away, but she never strayed far from his thoughts. Maybe it was because she'd been like family, or because their friendship had come to such an abrupt, bitter end. Maybe because throughout the rest of his life, until Gideon and the team, he never gained another friend.

Maybe it was because he found cookie dough ice cream just a bit too sweet for his taste after that betrayal.

* * *

Reid could still smell the liquor. He had never liked it to begin with – bad memories, _bad memories_ – but he tolerated it when he saw the pain in Elle's eyes. She was going through a lot, and although he knew drinking would not help, him telling her so wouldn't either. So he kept quiet, swallowing his discomfort of the situation and the intimidation Elle always made him feel, and simply tried to support his friend. If that meant pushing back against her angry, defiant shell and pouring out his own drink while sitting at a motel table, so be it.

Her eyes weren't haunted, like he'd expected. They were dead, done with everything life had to offer. It scared Reid. It scared him to listen to her voice confess to being conscious while the Fisher King had reached inside her to spell bloody words across her walls. That she could still feel him.

"Elle…"

The Fisher King case had hit them all hard, but it was a defining point for her, a near death experience, something that Reid couldn't really relate to. Sure, he'd been bullied and taken advantage of, stabbed through the heart with emotions, but he'd never been shot or had his blood stain his home. He wasn't the one with the dead look in his eye, slugging back alcohol to try and forget the feel of violation.

"He's dead. You're… you're right here."

His inept voice telling her that it was over, that she'd won, sounded feeble and overly-optimistic even to himself. You didn't just walk away from an incident like that. It didn't matter saying that you'd won when each night the nightmares came to tell you otherwise. It didn't matter that the bad guy was dead when the good guy wanted to die right alongside him.

"You won."

Her smile showed just how tired and empty she really was. She raised her glass in a careless, almost ironic way, and Reid could only give her a fake smile back.

"Then here's to winning."

It hurt seeing her pain, but it hurt even more to see her unravel and run without so much as a goodbye, leaving him to deal with his own guilt of _what ifs_ for a long time after she was gone.

* * *

It took a long time for Reid to trust Gideon. After all the years of people taking advantage of his genius and eagerness for kindness, it was difficult for Reid to willingly open himself up to the older profiler. He admired the man, yes, and latched on to him in his usual typical style (even after all this time, Reid still could not help clinging to anyone to offer him a smile instead of a sneer) but he always tried to distance himself. He grudgingly stayed not so much for the expertise Gideon offered, but the quiet compassion and support he had for the damaged young man.

It took a while, but Reid learned to trust Gideon with all his heart. He was more than just a mentor; he was like the father Reid had always needed and wanted. When Morgan openly expressed concern over Gideon coming back to the job, questioned whether or not his "break-down" had permanently damaged him, Reid just shrugged it all away and trusted Gideon to know what he was doing. And he did pull through, never let them down.

Encouraging Reid to think outside the box, constantly playing (and beating) the genius at chess, the insistence of calling him "Doctor Reid" from day one gave Reid a new perspective. One with respect, one that demanded that although he was smart, he needed to always try for more. And from following that example, Reid found confidence in a make-shift family. All thanks to Gideon.

But Gideon let him down in the end, just like everyone in his life. A letter; that was it, the only thing left of the relationship with the older man he'd viewed as a father. But paper couldn't heal the hole in his heart. Pen marks couldn't dry his tears. The hollow, dusty envelope couldn't stop that craving from flowing through his veins, begging to end the pain. Emily had said maybe he should stop and think about why Gideon had left him a note, out of everyone on the team.

Reid stopped and thought about it. Thought about how he couldn't be there to see his mentor fall apart, wasn't there to help him. How he was obviously the weakest link and that Gideon thought he needed to write his protégé a letter, since he was _weak_ and couldn't deal on his own. He thought about how scared he'd been walking through the dark cabin, candle in hand, expecting at any moment to find a bloodstained body with soulless eyes and a still-smoking gun in hand. How in a way he wished he _had_ found a body, because then at least he'd have some closure; how guilty and sick that made him feel, so that he'd had to run and choke bile into his sink.

He thought about how even years later the abandonment still hurt, and he couldn't even hear Gideon's name being mentioned without feeling invisible daggers tearing into his heart and a cruel, hateful voice muttering in his ear. He thought, with bitter resentment, that just a simple "good-bye" to his face would have worked wonders. But he'd run like a coward; like Elle, like his father.

Certain betrayals, like that, were unforgivable until it was the only thing you could do to give yourself peace. He'd always hurt, knowing that.

* * *

He knew realistically that JJ had lied to them out of necessary, to protect Emily. It didn't stop his anger, though. He was angry with Hotch, with Emily, with everything. But his anger towards JJ was more of a hurt anger than a pissed-off anger that came with being deceived. She'd looked him in the eye and held him as he sobbed on her shoulder, held his hand at the funeral, carried an empty coffin next to him. The betrayal, the fact she hadn't told him Emily was still alive, couldn't trust him enough…

It was selfish of him to hold such a grudge. It had been about _Emily_, about _her _safety, not his feelings. But it had hurt still the same. It drove a crack into their relationship, one he feared originally would break it apart. As it was, he knew it would never truly heal right.

He loved Emily, and he loved JJ. On a distant spectrum, it hurt to hear his words bite into them, to see the growing frustration on JJ's face and the devastation in her voice. Another part of him, still clinging to bitterness over the ones that's left him, laughed and cheered at the pain he delivered back after all the times of just rolling over like a mangy dog. Doctor Reid's voice was anything but forgiving or kind when that monster took over, steaming with rage and the rotten pile of injustices people expected him to swallow.

Like everything else though, he didn't want to disappoint the ones around him, so he swallowed his pride (and his hurt, that would linger for a while even though everyone thought he'd moved on) and went to Rossi's to cook pasta and drink wine. He ended up having fun, hadn't spent the evening giving false smiles and turning over his bitterness in his mind, awkwardly unable to even look at his team.

He generally smiled, ate his fill, and laughed as the cool wine flowed through all of them. He realized then, that even if his anger at JJ's betrayal would remain in him (forever; just like all the rest, damn him) he once again needed to forgive. For her, for his team; never for himself. That was the way Reid handled the betrayals.

* * *

Reid sobbed like he'd never sobbed before. Not Maeve, the woman he loved. Not her. She couldn't – wouldn't – leave him. She couldn't betray him like that.

The rain dripped down his windows, dark streaks left behind on the tinted glass. Small knocks came on his door occasionally (Garcia, probably) and every so often the shrill scream of his phone would knock him into reality. For a while, he'd turned a clear syringe over and over in his palm. It was cold, like it'd been sitting in snow and not in the old shoe-box beneath his bed. He bet his team was worried out of their minds over him, fearing what he might do, but they couldn't force him to answer his locked door or his almost dead phone (he didn't bother to plug it in to charge it, what was the point?).

He laid a hand over the book – their book – and felt that maybe he was too numb to cry anymore; except, when he lifted a finger to rub at sore eyes, they came away wet. It was silly. It was unbelievably selfish of him. To believe that the woman who he'd loved (and who, somehow, had loved him back), the one currently buried in damp earth wrapped in a shroud, had betrayed him. It wasn't like she'd wanted to die (and it was Reid's fault she was; he hadn't been quick enough, smart enough, _enough_). But it didn't mean the old resentments and anger didn't well up under his skin, threatening to split him apart. Because she'd left, even if she hadn't wanted to. She was gone and he was once again left behind to sweep up the pieces of a mess he hadn't asked for. Once again he had to stitch his face into a smile and jog in circles until everyone was satisfied he was fine (_he's tough, he'll get through it!_) and it wasn't like they'd guess that the boiling wrath wasn't just self-hatred (justified), but the frustration that again he'd been left behind (the ones he loved always went to places he couldn't follow, he'd realized).

It was horrible to feel such strong feelings towards someone that was dead, but feelings couldn't just be changed. Not by him, anyway. He'd just have to accept, move on, and harbour the pain. On and on, an endless circle of misery and happiness and life.

He cried like a newborn, wishing he didn't feel these betrayals that weren't betrayals.

* * *

The dead couldn't be replaced, just like sadness never truly went away. Reid held his resentments tight to his chest, and forgave them, but he didn't ever fucking forget them. They were a part of him, the thing he released when a cold-hearted psycho smirked at a two-way mirror and his snake-tongue injected poison into quick-witted words meant to wound and break a killer. It was a dark glint in his eyes when someone tried to hurt those he loved. It was a bitter monster of regrets and misplaced guilt. It was a dead shadow, curled around his neck and hidden behind the things that let him forget, the things that made him happy for a time (his team, books, solving a case, and oh, _memories of uncaring numbness_).

Reid didn't like it. Didn't like that betrayals stayed with him, followed him like stray dogs on a beach. But he was glad to turn it to his use, to use it as a weapon to take down the evil, and defend the innocent (he'd been innocent once, hadn't he?).

The evolution of hurt, to self-doubt and blame, to this anger was interesting, but it all faded down eventually. Just a moment in the past that had once been a bleeding injury that was now just an uncomfortable scar. Just because they would never leave him didn't mean he had to dwell on it.

He'd forgive, and he'd smile. That's what he did, to continue living.

* * *

**A/N: This was inspired a few months ago when I re-watched "The Boogeyman" (the episode where Elle leaves) and it re-ignited the anger I have towards everyone that's betrayed Reid. That is the main problem I have with Gideon actually; he was a cool character, but leaving Reid behind like that? It mirrored Elle's leaving, since both times Reid seemed to blame himself for them going (the poor sweetheart). Reid is an exceptionally strong character; he's faced hardships since his childhood and he always seems to pull himself together to continue trotting on. I wanted to explore some of his deeper feelings over the betrayals he's faced, and how he handles them. This wasn't exactly the view I was going for (I'm actually a bit confused over what I've written myself) and I've pulled two all-nighters now and my thoughts are too jumbled to accurately tell you what I think, so I guess it's open to interpretation. **

**On a side-note, I was thinking of continuing the story of Ally and Reid (that part is my favourite in this piece!) where they meet again years later. And before you guys review saying she's a bitch for ditching Reid, please know she does have a reason behind why she no longer wanted to be Reid's friend. I'm not gonna say here, because I'm seriously considering continuing the story with her and want it to be a surprise. **

**Not my best piece of writing, and I don't really like it, but please review anyways! Tell me what you think! **


	10. Turn Your Frown Upside Down

**A/N: Just a quick, fun story that is sort of a thank-you gift to _Annber03_, who is one of the most dedicated reviews I have ever met. She suggested awhile back that I do**** "...a chapter involving Garcia could be fun to do; maybe she's coming up with ways to help take care of her teammates after a rough case, or planning a fun night to help cheer them up..." I thought that sounded like a good idea (I imagine Garcia does this a lot; she is the light and joy of her team, after all), so here you go, man! It's not too long, but I hope you enjoy regardless!**

**Also, you may notice that chapter 9, "Ever Hopeful," is no longer there. Fear not, my friends! I entered that story in my school writing contest wHERE IT GOT FIRST PLACE! I'm super proud, but was paranoid that the districts would check for plagiarism when judging for the next round, so I've taken it down momentarily. Once the contest is over, the chapter will be restored with all its original notes. Thanks! :)**

* * *

**Summary: Garcia decides to try and cheer up her teammates after a particularly brutal case, where sometimes, just the company of family can help keep the nightmares at bay. **

**Warnings: Nothing. **

**Disclaimer: Do not own CM, do not pass GO... Damn.**

* * *

**Turn Your Frown Upside Down**

Garcia slowly turned the salmon-pink banner just a bit to the side, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Satisfied that it was straight (or at the very least, _decoratively _crooked), she turned her fretting to the table, laden with dishes and platters. Finding nothing for her to fuss over – not a single cup was out of place – she settled with wringing her hands and swaying back and forth on her heels. She was nervous, running through a list in her mind, hoping she'd remembered everything necessary.

"Hey, Baby Girl," said a tired voice, "what's-"

Garcia let out a squeal and spun towards the open door, where Morgan had just entered and then proceeded to stop in shock. "Surprise!" she yelped, and threw up her hands as the rest of the team paused in the doorway. The tech goddess hadn't been expecting her team back so soon, but her surprise wore off quickly and she grinned at her team with as much energy as she could summon. It was worth all the effort she'd put in, she thought, when she saw the weary looks melt off of her family's faces at the display she'd put on for them.

"What's this?" asked Reid, an adorable little smile staring to creep across his jet-lagged features.

"It's a celebration!" Garcia said forcefully, motioning them into the room. "Another case done!"

The whole Round Table room was done up in different pastel banners, some hanging from the ceiling and some tied onto the corner of the table. A few balloons floated and bumped along the ceiling, wearing cartoon smiley faces painted on them by hand. On the table was a feast fit for a king; crackers with cheese and meat slices, chips of all flavours, plates piled high with cookies and other baked goods, platters of fresh fruit, a crystal bowl filled to the brim with little sugar candies, and of course, a giant bowl of pink-peach punch to wash it all done (and which may or may not have been spiked by Rossi's secret stash Garcia _happened_ to know about).

"Here," Garcia said, and pushed Emily (her closest victim) down into a chair that seemed to have an extra cushion duct-taped to it. Emily didn't comment though, simply sinking into the comfortable seat and accepting the cookie Garcia shoved at her. The rest of the team sensed that there was no getting out of this particular "Garcia rampage" and gave up immediately, sitting in their own seats and helping themselves to the sugary and salty snack foods available.

Eventually, little conversations began between team members, despite the toll the latest case had taken on them and their resulting exhaustion. Bloody crime scenes faded beneath Garcia's light, soft colours and the cozy atmosphere created. Victim's names were shoved into appropriate boxes as laughter and familiar jokes were retold. Memories that would never disappear were forgotten in the face of mindless fun. And that was exactly what Garcia had been trying to accomplish.

Rossi stood from the table as Morgan grinned cockily at Reid and offered the younger agent his hand, saying something along the lines of, "Come on, Pretty Boy. Scared to lose?" Emily snickered quietly, trying hard not to jostle JJ who had since fallen asleep and was currently drooling on her friend's shoulder. Hotch, rare laugh-lines apparent on his face, watched in amusement as Reid tried to get himself out of the arm-wrestling Morgan kept insisting upon –where Emily's quick, smart-ass comments were not helping his case at all, thank you very much. The oldest of the team just observed, standing next to the slumped form of Garcia leaning against the wall, also just watching.

"Thank you," he said quietly. She smiled, uncharacteristically silent in her own fatigue.

"The case was bad," she explained. "We needed this."

Rossi chuckled. "Yes, I reckon we did." He took a sip of his punch and raised it to her in salute, cocking an eyebrow at Garcia who smacked his arm playfully in response to the sarcastic gesture. Morgan let out a shout as Reid managed to bend the agent's arm almost all the way to the table (Reid wasn't the strongest physically, but he did know physics and how to turn Morgan's strength against him) before he regained control and pushed Reid's arm back, slamming it to the table in triumph. Morgan laughed freely, and boasted at his success, as Reid then launched into an explanation of his tactics and why he'd failed. Hotch sighed in disappointment at the turn of events (he'd bet Morgan that he'd lose; seems he was now fifty bucks short), Emily complained loudly ("Reid, you were _so_ close!"), and JJ jerked awake from all the noise.

"Wha's happenin'?" she slurred, peering at her team in confusion.

"Nothing," said Rossi. He smiled at Garcia, who clapped her hands and hugged her sleepy blonde friend with a giggle. "Just a night spent with family."

* * *

**A/N: ...and Emily proceeded to challenge Morgan to arm-wrestle, where she won! :D Please Review!**


	11. Aura, or Protectiveness

**A/N: Heya guys! Sorry it's been so long since I've updated! Last time was in April, I believe, and now it's already November... I could write an entire paragraph on everything going on in my life (between finishing Assailant, going on a month-long vacation during the summer, etc) but let's just say that graduating from high-school is way harder than I expected. Seriously, I'm dying trying to keep my grades up so I can go to university next year D: **

**anyWAYS this was a combination of two prompts I got... like, when I first started this series. (I think I mentioned somewhere that I'd always complete prompts but it might take me a year to complete them. Bet you didn't believe me, did you? JOKES ON YOU I'M A PIECE OF SHIT LOL). Both came from _spiegiraffe_: "Reid needs tlc all the time, and the team just adjusts over time. He forgets to eat or sleep or drink water because, well, he's an absent-minded genius, he gets overwhelmed and needs time to chill" and also "Reid does have autism (total canon tho) and the team does certain things for him to make life easier... maybe told with Seaver noticing the weirdness and being rude." **

**I wanted to actually do some research because those are amazing prompts but see my previous note (pIECE OF SHIT AYYY), so I ended up not doing that, and I kinda twisted everything, but anyways, I hope it's good enough because this is definitely not my best work and this stupid one-shot fought me every step of the way.**

**Additional note: I will not be re-uploading "Ever Hopeful," which, btw, won first in the districts and won me a smokin' 100 bucks. I may upload it to my tumblr blog (if anyone is interested in reading or re-reading it), but it will not be seen on this account again. Sorry. **

* * *

**Summary: Seaver is confused with a certain Spencer Reid and his more... notable quirks. Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned it to the team, though. **

**Warning: Major Seaver bashing. I never did like her... **

**Disclaimer: Shockingly, no. **

* * *

**Aura, or Protectiveness**

"What's wrong with him?"

JJ looked at Seaver confusedly, obviously not understanding the question, and continued to stir cream into her coffee. Seaver motioned a hand to the youngest member of the BAU team, currently grinning at Morgan and spinning in his desk chair, taunting his friend with the fact that he'd finished all his paperwork already. "I mean, what's wrong with him?"

The friendly smile on JJ's face suddenly held none of her usual gentle warmth, instead becoming as cold and cruel as the unsubs they faced every day. "I don't understand what you mean," she said, her voice so calm and icy that Seaver almost flinched back.

"He's…" Seaver faltered as the other woman's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her lips still turned up into that mocking, false smile.

"_There's nothing wrong with him_."

Seaver can't help but feel relieved when JJ walks away after that, ruffling Reid's hair as she passes the desks, smiling at him with her _real_ smile, all coldness vanished in an instant. She hadn't left any coffee for Seaver.

* * *

Admittedly, Seaver had not approached the subject of Spencer Reid in a very good manner. She could feel an aura surrounding him, a protective hovering that every other member of the team enforced over the young genius. It was different than the usual loyalty, friendship, and protectiveness the team members had for each other; it was in the little, gentle nudges they guided him in, steering him out of the direct line of fire. It was a special sort of watch that they all seemed to just _know_ – like it was second nature to constantly watch and care for him.

The oddest part, however, _was that Spencer Reid didn't seem to notice_.

Like how he'd stand for hours, staring at a whiteboard and mumbling under his breath, his eyes squinted at their current case's notes, his mind wrestling with the mysteries presented, and Hotch – stern, intimidating leader of the BAU – would leave a steaming cup of coffee next to the fresh markers, knowing Reid would discover it eventually when his hand strayed to write new thoughts down. He would, eventually, and would sip it absent-mindedly without even looking at the cup or bothering to find out and thank whoever had left it there in the first place.

Maybe Spencer Reid was just very unobservant, she thought. But then, _unobservant _wasn't a word that could describe Doctor Spencer Reid, the genius that could figure out the solution to a problem in half the time a group of NASA scientists could.

And it was more than that. It was how he'd fidget and click pens and tap his fingers on the edge of tables, the way his leg would bounce then suddenly stop and tense. It was how he spun in his chairs like a child, leaning back and using his legs to create the perfect speed of not-too-fast, not-too-slow. Or the way he'd keep every paper on his desk straight, but how the one glance into the drawer of his desk had revealed a mismatched heap of papers, photos, newspaper clippings, candy bars, chess pieces, and slightly wrinkled origami figures. The more she watched, the more she noticed these little quirks; straightening crooked papers someone had just set down, always stirring the massive amounts of sugar into his coffee with just three quick swirls, even the way he placed his watch over his shirt, not under.

It was a bit baffling, to say the least.

She decided, after much thought, that she'd _tactfully_ ask Morgan what was up with the young agent. She wanted to avoid JJ on the subject as much as possible; the smiles directed her way were still a bit cold.

Seaver didn't jump into like she'd done before. No, this time she waited until she was a decent way into a conversation with Morgan before casually saying, "You know, some people wonder about him."

"Wonder about who?" Morgan had asked cheerfully.

"Oh, you know. Reid." The instant his name passed her lips she felt the man tense a bit like he'd been struck.

"What about him?" he asked, and his playful tone was tense, the grin on his face now a bit forced.

"Well… he's a bit strange, isn't he?" she suggested, moving on before he could change the subject. "Maybe OCD, or ADHD, I've heard."

"I don't know who you've been talking to, but I wouldn't listen to it. People around here will gossip about anything to keep their hollow heads entertained." This time, his voice was serious, bordering on anger, and she felt herself want to gulp in fear at the danger in his stare.

"Right, right," she said, trying to brush it off like it was nothing, and the smile returned to his face. They chatted idly for a few more minutes before he turned to go.

"Oh, and just so you know," he said casually as he turned away, "we don't profile each other." It was said lightly, but Seaver could hear an undercurrent of warning there, a message that he wasn't fooled by her antics, and that she'd better cut it out.

She was a bit tempted to.

* * *

Seaver, more than anything, was shocked over how Spencer Reid didn't seem to mind the babying his team gave him. Just now, she'd watched Emily smile fondly and toss him a fruit roll-up, which he'd gladly opened and started to eat as he continued to spin in his chair. He already looked young enough, with his hair curling under his eyes and his large puppy-dog eyes and dorky shirts. It was baffling to her that he'd be fine with the obvious treatment his team gave him.

Except he just. Didn't. Notice.

She wasn't sure why it bugged her so much, but something was rubbing her the wrong way about it all. And while she'd been trying to be subtle about her feelings, she was cornered one day by David Rossi.

"Alright kid," he'd sighed, "what's bothering you?"

"Nothing," she'd automatically replied, but his raised eyebrow told her he didn't believe it for a moment.

"You've been very distracted lately."

Feeling trapped, and still infinitely frustrated (which in part was due to the fact that she still had no clue why she was so frustrated), she waved a hand up at the ceiling in anger. "I just… what's the matter with him? Is he autistic? Is he ADHD, or OCD? There has to be something!"

Somehow, Rossi didn't need to clarify who she was talking to. He didn't look angry like Morgan, nor did his face grow cold and mocking like JJ, but something in his calculating stare chilled her. Finally, after just watching her for a minute or so, letting her squirm, he told her his advice.

"That's not something you need to worry about."

She knew she wasn't getting anything else out of the man, and somehow she just knew that she'd gotten another strike with yet another member of the team.

* * *

It wasn't something she'd meant to say; it was just something that she'd noticed after being on the team for more than a month now. "He always gets the couch."

"Excuse me?" said Emily, glancing at her in confusion. They'd been sitting together, working through case-files in relatively comfortable silence, until the seemingly random question had burst from Seaver's lips.

"Reid. On the jet. He always gets the couch."

Looking both bemused and a bit hesitant, she said, "Um, I'm sure he'd let you have the couch, if you asked…"

Seaver waved a hand at the other woman. She didn't want the couch; it was simply an observation that had been nagging at her. Unless someone on the team had been injured, or particularly shaken by a case, it was always Reid that got the couch. He'd sprawl out on it originally, but as soon as they were in the air he'd be out like a light, curled up like a cat, his arms tucked to his chest and soft, rumbling breaths ruffling his hair that fell around his face. One of the team would always get up and gently tug his shoes off (if he'd forgotten to remove them) then drape one of the old blankets over his form.

"_Why_ does he always take the couch?" After all, he and Morgan argued good-naturedly over other things like this; over who got to ride shot-gun, who got an extra cookie from Garcia, who had to deal the next round of cards. Why hadn't she ever heard a word of protest from Morgan whenever Reid flopped down on the couch like it was his personal property?

Emily frowned slightly. "Reid sometimes forgets to take care of himself, especially on cases. We let him have the couch because he's usually the one that needs the most amount of sleep." Emily hesitated a second before directing her gaze on Seaver, and boy, Emily Prentiss's stares weren't something to take lightly.

"Is that what's been bothering you lately?" she asked, her eyes holding less of their usual empathy.

Seaver stuttered a bit, before completely denying such a thing. By the disapproving look shot her way, she knew Emily hadn't bought it, and Seaver felt a small prick of anger in her chest at the look. _What had happened to the no profiling rule?_ she thought irritably.

At the end of the case, Emily was the one to drape Reid's sleeping form with a blanket, and Seaver felt a pang when the woman looked at her briefly without emotion, before returning to her seat and ignoring her.

* * *

Seaver wrinkled her nose the moment they walked into the police station, the smell of fish wafting through the air, probably left over from an officer's lunch. Still, the smell wasn't as strong as it could be, and she knew it'd fade away from her direct attention soon enough.

That's why she was puzzled when Reid took one sniff, drained of all his colour, and abruptly turned and vomited in the flowerbeds outside the station. A very concerned JJ pushed past her and went to rub circles on his back, shaking her head when Morgan looked like he was going to approach, and the pair went a distance away so they could sit side by side on a bench, alone.

"What's up with him?" she asked, realizing that her tone had come out more annoyed then she'd wanted to.

Emily and Morgan sent her twin glares at the same time, instantly having her back up, but Hotch just shook his head and herded his team away from the pair quietly talking outside, offering up no explanation.

Later, he'd say quietly to her with a frown that nobody questioned some of the behavior of the team. Not how Morgan became withdrawn with twice as much aggression during cases with sexually abused children. Not when JJ would hesitate just a micro-second before saying "suicide" in a steady tone. Not to comment when Garcia looked away from the photos she herself presented.

She wasn't to question why the scent of fish made Spencer Reid react in such a way.

* * *

Garcia was almost as baffling as Reid. The woman was literally a display sign of weakness, and Seaver was puzzled with how she'd ever gotten into the FBI. Sure, she was a wiz at her computers, but _look at her_. With her fluffy pens, and kitten-print dresses, and earrings shaped like the TARDIS. She cried easily, hugged strangers, and, most importantly of all, couldn't handle blood or violence of any kind.

Screw _how_ she'd gotten into the FBI; _why_ had she wanted to be in the FBI?

But, if there was one thing that could be counted on about Garcia, it was that she was unfairly nice to her friends. Another thing was that she was a terrible lair.

So when her smile fell upon seeing Seaver – before being hastily painted back on – and she'd stammered out an excuse before ducking away from her, just to stop and flirt with Morgan, Seaver knew her outbursts had begun to filter through the team.

* * *

She was glad to leave the BAU team. They had never been unfriendly towards her; had even greeted her with open arms upon her arrival – even if she'd still felt left out in the circle of people that were more family than coworkers. But Spencer Reid had an aura around him, and she should have followed that, should have respected that, and she'd pushed and prodded, and one thing she'd learned was that in this team pushing and prodding wasn't going to get her anything but silent resentment.

She could sense that none of the team, excluding an oblivious Reid, would miss her.

Seaver found that she never really had figured out what was up with Spencer Reid. Why he worked without rest or substance until someone forced it into him, or why he wore different socks on each foot, or why he fidgeted when he was in a crowd – clenching and unclenching his hands – or flinched when too many people talked at once. She never found out why he vomited at the smell of fish, or why his team was so defensive about it.

A part of her, in her ocean of still-seething frustration and no regret, wished them all the best. A part of her thought that Spencer Reid, as exasperatingly oblivious as she'd decided he was, was very, very lucky to have such sweet, dedicated people watching out for him.

* * *

**A/N: This was more of a mash-up of a bunch of head-canons I have and me hating Seaver than the original prompts, and I apologize. **

**Also, I might be updating again soon! I haven't watched CM for months, especially after I fell into cartoon hell, but considering how most of my cartoons are currently on break, and the fact that I both discovered an AMAZING CM writer that revived my interest and my recent purchase of season 10 (I haven't watched it yet, so no spoilers in the reviews pls) I feel like I may drift back into this fandom. We'll see. **

**Other than that, please review and send me more prompts because I am fresh out! **


	12. Denial and Moving On

**A/N: Hey guys, I started watching my season 10 disks finally and gUESS WHICH EPISODE PISSED ME OFF. EPISODE 2, "BURN," THAT'S WHAT. I'VE ONLY GOTTEN TO TWO EPISODES AND I'VE ALREADY HAD TO STOP SO I CAN BASICALLY RANT OUT MY ANGER OVER THIS STUPID EPISODE! I MEAN, WHO IN THE EVER-LASTING FUCK THOUGHT MORGAN WOULD ACT LIKE THAT? YOU'RE TRYING TO TELL ME HE'D BE THAT CRUEL TO HIS BABY GIRL?! FUCK THAT!**

* * *

**Summary: Morgan's perceptive on the whole Greg Baylor incident, plus a guest appearance by Reid being a good friend. **

**Warning: A lot of rushed writing because I needed to fix this terrible injustice to Morgan's character and also Garcia made me cry, she is just too precious. Also major spoilers for 10x2, "Burn." **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds but if I did I would never have done THIS.**

* * *

**Denial and Moving On**

When Morgan first heard about what Garcia was planning to do, he was struck dumb with disbelief. Greg Baylor was a murderer – he'd tried to kill Reid and Penelope! That alone made Morgan quite content to see him burn in hell – but still, she was going to go and _see_ him, talk to him _face to face_.

And suddenly there was fire in his belly. He wasn't thinking of Garcia or the person she'd shot and felt responsible for; he was thinking about Carl Buford, how after all those years of suppressing memories and feeling disgusting and fighting against monsters like him, he'd been forced to stare his abuser straight between the eyes and watch their lies and filth become open to the world. He knew he'd been in denial over his abuse, but once it was all done and the man had been arrested, Morgan had felt a peace he hadn't felt since the day his dad died and Buford had rubbed his shoulder in comfort at the funeral. But still, his dear Ma – with so much sorrow and guilt over not protecting her son – had asked him time and time again, "Don't you think you should go see him? Find closure?"

Morgan wasn't stupid. Watching the cuffs go on the man hadn't taken away his pain or his shame, but in that moment, he knew he never had to see Buford again and that had crushed him with relief – finally, he could move on.

So now, when Garcia said she had to go see the monster who had hurt her so much, Morgan didn't hear her tearful confusion, pleading for him to back her up; all he felt was the rage he'd held when he'd looked into his own past's darkness and the fear that had exploded in him when he'd found out his family had been threatened.

"No. I don't have your back. He is a _murderer_. He's _scum_. He tried to _kill you_. Wake up! Let me know when you're done washing his feet."

Why would she do this?

* * *

Reid was the one that knocked sense into him, as per usual. And it wasn't just his words, detailing how he got over killing his first person (and this was Garcia they were talking about, had he ever expected anything less?); but it was also walking into one of the backrooms to hear Reid's gentle voice checking in on his friend over the phone, although Morgan knew Reid – as loved as he was – was not the person Garcia needed right now.

Morgan still didn't check his phone, not with the flickering remains of cinders scorching his throat.

* * *

Garcia's phone chirped at her and she almost broke her hand lunging for it on the side-table. "Morgan!"

"Um, no."

Garcia, although crushed that Morgan still refused to return her calls, was relieved to hear a friendly voice. "Reid! Sweetheart, you ok?"

He chuckled. "Funny, I was just going to ask you the same thing."

"Oh! Yeah…"

A slightly awkward silence hung between them until Reid asked, "Are you ok?"

"Never better," she replied, a warble in her voice. "I just…"

"It's ok, Garcia; we're all behind you," he said quietly.

"Not everyone." And then the dams broke and she was crying a bit, unable to stand it. "Morgan, god… he doesn't _get it_, he just, but I _need_…"

"I get it, Garcia. You have to do what you think is right. And I apologize for Morgan. You know he's a bit thick-headed sometimes but he'll come around eventually."

Garcia sniffed and laughed a bit, knowing he was right. "T-thanks Reid, you're the greatest, a t-true genius."

"Always glad to help. And Garcia? It'll all work out. I promise."

* * *

Reid had been right, of course. Morgan, consumed by guilt and worry after finally listening to his friend's distraught missed messages, was determined to sit on the cement steps of her apartment, all night if he had to. He ran a hand over the cold steps gently, remembering with a shiver how years before it'd been stained with blood. He'd always been in her corner – hell, he'd almost punched out Rossi during that case – but he couldn't have been there for her now? When she was hurting and scared and confused and practically begging him for support? What the hell was wrong with him?

When he caught sight of her, shell-shocked and grieving, no doubt twisted up like a pretzel in her emotions (_she was too pure for this line of work_, he thought with a pang), he didn't do anything but open his arms to her. For a scary moment, he thought she'd refuse, but then she crashed into his chest and sobbed.

He helped her up to her apartment without a word, wrapping her up in a blanket on her couch, switching on the TV to a random sitcom for white-noise, and finally brewing some herbal tea in her cluttered kitchen to hopefully warm her up. She mumbled thanks when he gave her the steaming mug, cupping it to her chest as more tears tricked down, and he tenderly wiped them away.

"Baby Girl," he said quietly, sitting next to her and waiting until she turned his eyes to his. "I owe you an apology."

"No," she said, her voice cracking, "you were right, you were so right! I just made things worse going there. I couldn't _save _him and I just feel _worse_. I… I…" More tears spilled down her cheeks and he handed her a tissue to blow her nose with.

"Garcia, no. I was wrong. I should have supported you. I just couldn't believe…" He ducked his head a bit and rubbed her hand that wasn't gripping the mug in a white-knuckled grip. "Everyone has different ways of working past their problems; I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'm sorry."

"I am so mad at you right now," Garcia sniffed, "but… thank you. Thank you for being here now."

"I'm sorry it took this long. And you better believe," he said, a teasing note coming into his voice, "that I'm going to stick around until you kick me out on my butt."

She suddenly gave a watery giggle. "More like throw you out on your thick skull."

He rose an eyebrow in mock offence. "Thick skull? Excuse you!"

"Just something Reid said," she hiccupped, then sighed. Without a word, he extended his arm and she carefully stretched out, laying her head on his chest. A bit of the hot tea sloshed onto his t-shirt, but he didn't say anything; instead, he pulled the woolen blanket more firmly over her shoulders and turned up the TV a bit. He was determined to have her back again. It didn't matter how she dealt with this, because he'd be there for her, even if she had a different way of coping.

That was something he should have realized in the beginning.

* * *

**A/N: I am so sorry you had to read that, but I'm literally just so distraught over that episode. I firmly believe Morgan would not have acted that way; sure, maybe he wouldn't have supported Garcia's decision, but his firm shut-downs? No way. Nah-ah. You cannot convince me he'd be that mean to Garcia, not her. So, I decided, to try and help myself get over this, that I'd explore some of Morgan's inner thoughts during this episode. And I wondered; maybe he was so against Garcia's decision because he couldn't wrap his mind around how different people cope (considering his conversation with Reid). More than anything tho, I thought an apology was in order, so here ya go!**

**I apologize if this is low quality; I wrote it up in an hour, scanned it for mistakes, and decided it was time to publish. I was actually working on a prompt I got (ooooo it's gonna be a good one guys!) but I had to apparently stop and rant briefly lol. Btw, thank you for all your kind reviews, which leads me into saying this: I suck at replying to reviews (I can't help but feel awkward doing it) but I do see them and I treasure them! If you PM me or message me on tumblr tho, I'm totally down to discuss CM. Anyways, until next time!**


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